Smoke Rings (Book 3 of the Hayes Files)
by griffyn612
Summary: When a demon stalks the children of Woody's home town, he's the only one they can call for help. But as the situation grows dire, and his past comes back to haunt him, Hayes' own family ends up in the crosshairs. As the bodies pile up, Woody will have to see through smoke and illusion to find those responsible, before it costs him everything he loves.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The air was thick with smoke and snow as I stared up at the five story dollhouse.

Through the haze of ice and ash, flashes of red and orange could be seen as the apartment building burned. From where I stood, I'd seen glimpses of bedrooms and foyers, bathrooms and closets, flickering with angry flames. An entire wall had been sheered away like a slice of sheet cake, with the snow on the ground playing the roll of icing.

The cops had already cordoned off the area, and I stood with a group of pedestrians a block away. I'd already identified myself to one of the officers at the scene, and they'd gone to retrieve the detective in charge.

That left me time to figure out what the hell I was looking at.

The rubble from the building had tumbled across the street, damaging buildings across the way. I tried to see if I could spot anything that might hint at the cause of such destruction, but the snow had covered most of it.

As I mulled over the unbelievable sight, the cop I'd spoken with returned with a short blond woman in tow. She didn't look happy to see me, and I immediately found myself bracing for an argument.

"Hayes," Detective Karrin Murphy said crisply, her frown undoubtedly due to the weather and the situation rather than seeing me again. We'd worked together a few times over the years, but she'd never really warmed to me.

"Detective," I said politely. She nodded, and I dipped under the police tape and followed her toward the building.

"Sorry," she said as we walked. "I was expecting someone else."

"The C.F.P.D. called and told me to get out here," I told her, afraid that I was stepping on toes. The Chicago Fire Prevention Bureau was the group that normally hired me to investigate what you might call 'unique' fires and situations. As a private arson investigator, they paid me a pretty penny to explain the unexplainable in a way that people could believe. The Special Investigations division, of which Detective Murphy used to be in charge, occasionally hired me to consult on their cases when they involved anything in my wheelhouse.

"I asked them to call," the short detective replied, allaying my fears. "I was just expecting another consultant to have already been here."

"Oh," I said as we approached the building.

She led me to what was now the front corner of the building, or what used to be a point several feet in. I looked up at the edge of the structure, and gave a low whistle.

About five feet off the ground, or about hair level on the detective, was a perfectly circular hole cut into the side of the building. Half the circle remained in the wall still standing; the other half was lost in the rubble.

What made it distressing was that the brick and steel along the raw edge was still red hot, but the alley and surrounding area was unblemished. It was as if someone had concentrated a lot of heat in just the one particular area, without any thermal loss or damage to the surrounding structure. Which was impossible.

Well. Impossible unless you believed in magic.

"I take it this is a J&H call?" I asked, taking my glasses out of my jacket pocket to take a closer look at the super-heated brick. Once they were on, I sub-vocalized the spell that would allow me to see into the magical spectrum.

Most mortals, including myself, have no sense for the supernatural. Despite science protesting otherwise, there's plenty of magic around everyone and everything. The past, and sometimes even the future, can leave traces upon the things of the world. What was, what is, and what will come can sometimes overlap, leaving a psychic residue for those with the eyes to see it.

Wizards and the like can usually sense it on their own. They have the ability to use what they call the Sight, or Third Eye, or whatever nickname is fashionable at the time. With it, they can see the truth of things, but the cost is high. Whatever they see is indelibly imprinted on their mind; beauty or beast, what their Sight reveals will remain with them forever.

I had no such power. All I had was a handy pair of enchanted glasses that were no longer prescription, but still allowed me to peak at the world beyond the world.

Only a second after I'd activated the spell, I tore the glasses off my face and twisted away, clinching my eyes shut.

"You alright?" Murphy asked as she looked at me oddly. I waved in the direction I thought she might be in as I tried to will away the blinding red light that had burned into my retinas. The smell of sulfur in the air grew thick, enough to cause me to gag. I took a minute, no doubt making the detective question my sanity as I recovered from what I'd seen.

"Don't worry about the Hyde file," she eventually said, to break the awkward silence as I blinked away my vision. "I'm just going to need a Jekyll."

I frowned in her direction, the world still filtered through a crimson lens. "Why no Hyde?" I asked, surprised. Half of my job was making sure those in the know knew exactly what they were dealing with. While the brass would never publicly admit to the supernatural, it didn't mean that they let it destroy buildings without question. A select few would receive the 'Hyde' file as Murphy had started calling it back when I first worked for her, while the rest would settle for the 'Jekyll'.

Of course, that had been back when it had been Lieutenant Murphy rather than Detective Sergeant, and she had been in charge of the department. A few years back, she'd gone AWOL during an investigation at a convention, and it'd cost her the division. Now I technically consulted for Lieutenant Stallings, who'd been placed in charge.

"I'm bringing in another consultant for that half," she said, shooting a sideways glance my way. "I'm going to let him figure this out. Unless you have a guess?" she added.

"Other than a giant red lightsaber? Nope. Not the foggiest," I assured her.

And I didn't. While I knew some things about the supernatural world, I didn't know of anything that would be able to cut through brick, mortar and steel like that. Not without causing a whole lot of other damage. I'd been exposed to numerous forms of magical fire, but it all behaved like fire.

This was nothing like anything I'd seen before. My vision was just beginning to return to normal, and the stench of rotten eggs that had been overpowering was fading back to the weak scent it'd been when I'd arrived in the alley. With the glasses off, all I saw was the world as it was. And I was quite glad that I didn't have to live with the memory of that violent, destructive, hateful light.

"Alright," she said, sounding somewhat disappointed. "I guess we'll have to tap the donation jar."

I winced at that. I'd heard about the budget shortcuts in her department. Someone seemed to have it out for S.I., and was undercutting them at every opportunity. I suddenly realized that she'd probably been hoping I _could_ figure this out; my fees were paid by the C.F.P.B. budget.

"Uh, I could take a stab at it," I said belatedly.

"Don't worry about it," she said, her gruff tone making it clear that she didn't want any charity from me. "I'll just whitewash whatever Dre—"

" _Aht!_ " I said, flinching. I held up a cautionary hand, to which she rolled her eyes.

"Sorry," she said, sounding like she was anything but. "Forgot."

"You know enough to know there's power in names," I reminded her. "The last thing I want is him being anywhere around me. If you go saying his name, he's liable to pop up."

"That's kind of what I was hoping for," she growled as she checked her watch. Seeing the time, she glanced back at me. "Do you think you can whip something up?"

I turned back toward the wall, and managed to only flinch sightly at the memory of the red light. "For this? Sure. But it's going to have to be a conspiracy or plot, rather than something quick and easy."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean it's going to have to sound like someone on the inside, possibly the building's owner, was involved."

"Hmm," she said, a doubtful look crossing her face. "That could be a problem. This building is currently vacant while it undergoes renovations."

"Perfect!" I said, not seeing the issue. "So we say the owner realized it was a money-pit, and decided to get the insurance money. No charges are pressed because we can't find enough evidence to prosecute."

"The problem is the owner," she clarified. "It belongs to Lake Michigan Ventures, a subsidiary of Mitigation Unlimited."

If I was supposed to recognize the name, I sorely disappointed her. "So?"

"Who's the most powerful man in this city?" she asked.

"Um," I said, thinking about it. "Some might say the guy you've got coming."

The short detective gave an indelicate snort at that. "Other than him."

"Well, I don't know—" I began, before I realized what she was saying. "Oh. You mean that type of power."

"Mm-hmm," she said, nodding.

She meant John Marcone. Resident gangster, crime boss, pimp, entrepreneur, illegitimate business man, etc, etc. He was like the Kingpin, only less warm and fuzzy. Or maybe an aspiring Victor Von Doom, but without a penchant for body armor and green capes.

"I still don't see the problem," I said as I heard a ringing in my pocket, which I ignored. "He's always up to sketchy things, and he's got enough lawyers to make sure no-one ever pins anything on him. And besides," I added, gesturing toward the wall. "He's tied up in the supernatural scene as well. He probably won't want any more attention on this than you do."

The detective's head slowly pivoted toward me, and her cold eyes gave me a calculating look.

"Or so I hear," I said, swallowing nervously.

Knowing too much about Marcone might imply that I was familiar with his operation. And one thing I'd learned about Detective Murphy over the years was that she was the type of cop that played by the book. Even bothering with Jekyll and Hyde reports seem to disgust her, but she did what she had to. All the same, she wasn't going to do anything to help the likes of Marcone.

And to be honest, I didn't know him or his operation at all. We had one mutual acquaintance that I knew worked for him, but that was about it. Since that one acquaintance was a supernatural consultant by day and a Norse Valkyrie by night, I figured Marcone was aware of what really happened in his town.

It also made me wonder why it just happened to be his building that was destroyed by this display of incredible power.

"Alright," Murphy said, her tone curt again at the idea of Marcone making money on all of this. "Get me what you can, as soon as you can."

Before I could reply, another officer arrived. "Detective, the other one's here."

"That's my queue," I told her. "I'll get something typed up. Might take a couple days to work up anything remotely believable, and I'll update it once the forensic team provides whatever they can."

"Sooner the better," she said as she set off to follow the officer.

I followed after her, and cut my way across the street to where the response teams were organizing. I caught a glimpse of a ridiculously tall guy in the crowd, and carefully headed the other way. Trouble found me enough without me hanging out with the Wizard; being around him would only make it worse.

As I trudged through the snow, I pulled my phone out and checked the caller ID. When I saw who it was, I blinked in surprise, and quickly hit redial.

The phone rang twice before a tired feminine voice picked up. "Chief Hayes."

"Hey mom, what's up?" I said, my tone belaying my nerves. My mother wasn't the type to call so late unless something was wrong.

"Woody," she replied, her tone warming slightly. "You busy?"

"Out on a call," I told her as I made my way down the street. I found a building entrance that offered a little protection from the wind and snow, and hunkered down to hear her better. "Something wrong?"

"I don't know," she said, sounding unsure. Which was a rarity for my mother. "We've got something going on over here that I thought I'd get your advice on."

"Dad okay?" I asked, worried that she was hedging around something I didn't want to hear.

"He's fine," she said, her voice exasperated. "His usual self, which is more than enough."

" _I heard that_ ," a gruff voice called in the background.

"So what do you need?" I asked.

"We've had three deaths in the last three nights," she said, her tone taking on the official cadence of the Lake Providence Chief of Police. "Three kids, late teens and early twenties, all dead."

"Damn," I replied. "What's happening?"

"That's the thing, Woody," she said, growing unsure again. Her voice grew softer. "But I might not be anything… natural."

The wind howled for a second, blowing snow and cinder my way. I sat there, waiting it out, while trying to think of a reply. "What makes you think that?" I finally asked.

"The circumstances of the deaths," she said. "There are… questionable aspects."

" _Don_ _'_ _t be getting him all excited about that magic crap_ ," my father shouted in the background. Even hearing his tone over the phone was enough to grate my teeth.

"Can you come out?" my mother asked, sounding like she'd just shot my father a look.

"Um, yeah," I said, thinking it over. "The only urgent thing is this case, and I'm just getting started. I've told them it'll take a few days anyway."

"Great," my mother said, sounding relieved.

We said our goodbyes, and then I sat there on the building steps, stunned.

If I had made a list of improbable things that morning, that I was sure would never happen, a building with a wall sliced off by intense magical energy would be near the top. Even considering the supernatural world we lived in, it seemed impossible. Just the sheer power and control required for such a thing seemed absurd. There were very few things that would be higher on the improbability list.

My mother calling me for help on a case involving magic was one of them.

I shook my head, and started to make my way back to my place through the snow. The apartment building, with its impossible fire and incredible destruction, would have to wait.

I was going home.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It was a cold trip back to my place. One that left me with little else to do but shiver on the train and think about what was going on in Lave Providence.

When I got back to the old firehouse I called home, I quickly shook the snow from my boots and pants. The front of the building had been converted into a garage and front hallway that led toward the living space in the back. With the early onset of winter, I used the garage more for storing my warmer coats and weather gear than anything else. My '42 Harley Davidson WLA didn't see much use when there was significant rain, much less several feet of snow.

After I'd made an effort to not track snow into the rest of the house, I made my way back to the living space, and then down the stairs into the basement. That's where I'd set up a small lab for my investigative experiments. Being a private arson investigator meant that I could set my own hours, but it also meant I didn't have access to the same resources that full-time employees of the city had.

I passed by my work bench and storage lockers, and headed toward the back wall. There was a metal grate there that led down into the subbasement, which was connected to the old tunnels and sewer system beneath the building. It was closed from the outside, save for an access door that led into what many called Undertown; the warren of tunnels and chambers that spanned the city.

Said access door was heavily padlocked from the inside, meaning only two people could go in and out. Myself, and my roommate.

Technically, Qilluhrang wasn't a roommate. He didn't live in the actual firehouse; he mostly kept to several rooms in the subbasement. He'd come up on occasion to eat and watch movies with me, but he didn't pay rent. Not in any traditional sense, at least.

Before I'd bought the place, Q had run off numerous other tenants. Now that I was around, he didn't have to worry about anyone coming in and finding his space, or trying to fill it with concrete. My presence also offered him an alternative to having to go out in the world quite as much.

The reason he might like to avoid too much public scrutiny was obvious if you got one look at his face.

I opened the door to his own lab down below, and spotted a goblin holding a fire breathing salamander over a naked sword.

"What took you so long?" the goblin asked, shooting me a dark look. His features were asymmetrical to my eyes, but according to him, he was down-right normal looking compared to his goblin brethren. Bright red eyes glared at me as he held the sword by the hilt in one hand and the let the salamander sit in his other palm.

At my arrival, the salamander stopped his fire-breathing activities, and spared me a pleased look. He was the size and shape of a normal salamander, but his coloring was a bright orange-yellow that wasn't that common among the general amphibian populace.

When he saw that Sal had stopped, the goblin turned his scowl on the little guy and bobbed his hand, trying to get him to resume.

"There's a couple feet of snow falling out there," I told him. His tunnel was normally pretty temperate, but the lab was warm due to the flame thrower impersonation that Sal was doing. He resumed his duties, and Q turned back to him as the fire elemental unleashed more flame on the blade. "Have you guys been testing this the entire time I was gone?"

"Yes," Q replied, sounding indignant. He didn't like stupid questions, and seeing as I'd left the two of them doing that, he figured mine was a stupid question.

"Any change?" I asked, deciding to egg him on. Since the blade looked just like it had when I'd departed for the late-night investigative call, I figured not.

Q shot me another dirty look, and then indicated that Sal could stop. The little salamander did so, and then scurried away so that he could make his way up to my shoulder.

"Ow-ow-ow!" I said, flinching as his red-hot feet climbed up my body. I didn't feel any pain from the heat, but I still felt it. "Why don't you cool down first?" I plucked him off me and played a fun game of hot-potato until I could get him on the work bench. He spun around and sat up, waiting for a treat.

I obliged him by removing a cinnamon stick from a small snakewood box I carried. It was the size of a cigarette pack, and half of its contents were just that. The other half were sticks for when the little guy deserved something special.

While we were doing that, Q was dipping the heated blade into a barrel of ice water. Steam rose from it, but the blade remained unaffected.

"I tried hammering it earlier," the goblin said as he withdrew the blade. "Didn't do anything."

"That's great then," I told him. I was surprised by his disappointment. He'd paid a lot of money to have that blade manufactured to his specifications by Svartalves. The dark elves were master smiths, but it cost a lot to get them to work with iron. As a good portion of the blade's content was steel, the elves would be burned just as badly by its touch as Q or Sal would.

Most supernatural beings, especially those associated with Faerie, had a weakness when it came to iron and all of its derivatives. The stuff typically burned them, if not worse, and would even kill them if the exposure was bad enough.

Unfortunately, not everything had such a convenient weakness. Many supernatural entities could handle steel without issue; I'd run into just such a creature over a year prior. The Zmeu, a Romanian serpent man if my research was remotely accurate, had displayed incredible strength, durability, and healing. I'd put bullets into his neck and one eye, but he'd healed up within moments. When I'd tried to put a steel blade into his leg, it'd snapped in half. And I don't mean his leg.

Of course, that was nothing compared to his near invulnerability once he'd transformed into his Balaur form. The Zmeu were dual identity creatures; they typically ran around in a humanoid form, but could also turn themselves into three-headed fire breathing dragons. It was that second form that had been nigh indestructible, with magic spells and mortal weapons completely useless against its hide.

But at the same time I crossed paths with him, I also met a creature called a Kenku. I hadn't learned much about them, since they were a very private sort. They were some sort of bird men based out of Japan or there-abouts, and we'd worked together to kill the Zmeu before it could cause too much trouble.

In appreciation, the Kenku had given me a small knife. The blade was of the same manufacture as his sword, which had cut through the Zmeu — and its tougher dragonoid form — with ease.

Q had been studying the blade since I got it, trying to duplicate its traits. Over time, he'd determined that some serious magical crafting went into the weapon. The blade itself was folded steel, like many of the better Japanese blades were. But the compound metal also contained silver and bronze, among a few other choice elements. And the tempering process was even more complicated than the composition.

Q had tried several times to make blades on his own, but had ultimately resorted to hiring a swartalf he knew. The elf had agreed to help in return for knowledge the forging process, with the compromise that he wouldn't make them for anyone else. We didn't want it getting back to the Kenku that their methods had been duplicated by us.

"So is there any way to test the rest of the features?" I asked him as he laid the sword on his work bench. Sal glanced at it, and continued munching on his cinnamon stick.

"Not unless you want to go around poking things with them," Q said with a slightly hopeful tone as he retrieved a sheath for the blade. As he was just as averse to iron as the svartalves were, it would burn Q to touch the blade of his own weapon. The handle and lower portion of the guard were plated in silver and wood so he could wield it.

With some care, Q slid the long curving blade, somewhere between an officer's sabre and a scimitar, into leather confines. Once it was safely covered, Q hung with its twin in a weapons cabinet. I knew he'd have it back out again shortly. He'd barely put one or the other down since we'd gotten them a few weeks earlier.

"Well, I might have occasion to test mine," I said as I sat on a stool. At his inquisitive glance, I told him about the call from my mother.

"When are you leaving?" he asked.

"Tomorrow morning. I'll get packed tonight, and see if I can get a car."

The goblin glanced at a second weapons cabinet, which contained the items made for me. "I suppose you could take it. You're not completely incompetent in its use."

"Thanks," I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster for his back-handed compliment.

With the realization that I was finding myself in more and more dangerous situations, I'd set about making sure I was as well prepared as I could be. That meant having the tools I'd need to defend myself, and the training to go with them.

As Q was a goblin, fighting came as naturally to him as breathing did to me. When he wasn't experimenting with the Kenku blade or making enchantments to help pay for everything, he was putting me through my paces.

After a year and a half of training, I was in the best shape of my life. I'd put my new-found skills to the test a few times, and I was feeling pretty confident about my ability to keep myself alive.

But I wasn't a fool. I knew I'd never be the match for many supernatural creatures, even with all my new gear. Which is why I asked Q, "So do you want to come with?"

The goblin seemed to consider it, but ultimately shook his head. "I'm behind on commissions. I can't afford to put them off."

The last year had been busy for us. Q had kept up his normal business of making enchanted items, and I'd taken every job that came my way, both mundane or otherwise. I'd realized after the incident with the phoenix that there was no going back; my days of casually observing magic and magical creatures from the outside were over.

But with new friends had come new possibilities. While I hadn't heard from the Kenku warrior that I'd helped kill the Zmeu, I'd remained in touch with Olivia and Bailey.

Olivia was a very low level human practitioner that was involved in the local magical community. Through her, Q had been able to increase his client list, as there was always a demand for magical knick-knacks by those in the know, but unable to create them for themselves. His enchanted front door peepholes were top sellers, as they required little upkeep and offered their owners the ability to see through enchantments when people came calling.

The young girl handled most of Q's distribution amongst the mortals for a nominal fee. At the same time, she had helped me in my studies of magic. Olivia didn't know a lot, as she was barely more proficient at magic than I was. But she knew a lot of herbology, spells, and charms that Q wasn't familiar with. Mortal magic wasn't his forte. So Olivia taught me what she could, and helped introduce me to others that knew more.

I'd seen a lot less of the Fear Dearg I'd met, but that was mostly because he was busy himself. I didn't know the little guy's real name, so I'd dubbed him Bailey. The rat-faced — literally, not figuratively — faerie had helped us fight the Zmeu, and had gathered the spoils from the battle. He'd ended up with a lot more than he was expecting, and ultimately shared some of his profits with Olivia and I. I wasn't sure if it had something to do with his faerie nature, and keeping balanced with those he felt he owed, or just a friendly gesture. Either way, I'd gotten a tidy sum from the sale of Balaur body parts, as well as a few for myself.

It was the last that had kept me busy buying and selling favors over the last year. I'd requested some commissioned work myself, and we both had to work to pay off the swartalf.

"Alright," I said, and headed over to my cabinet. When I opened the doors, I looked over the small arsenal that awaited. "I think I'll just take the rod, the knife, the leathers, and a few knick-knacks."

"Okay," Q said carefully, "You going to take the armor?"

"No," I said, making it sound like I'd said it a thousand times before. I hadn't, as I'd only had it for the last few months, but Q wanted to field test it. "I think the leathers will be good enough."

Q watched as I removed said items from the cabinet and packed them into a gym bag I kept in there. His eyes remained glued on the short two-foot rod as I removed from the cabinet. When it was out of sight, he turned away.

"Be careful with that," he grumbled.

"Sure thing, dad," I said, rolling my eyes.

While his worry was annoying, it was also understandable. Q didn't have many friends, so he tended to appreciate those he had. When he spent a lot of time with one in particular, it became apparent that he'd do anything and everything for them. And while knowing each other for just a seemingly short time, I had no doubt that his best friend in the world was that rod.

What, you thought I was talking about me? Pffft.

While Q and I were friendly, and helped each other out, the only friends he'd admit to were his weapons and his creations. And the shiny two-foot rod I was taking with me was his greatest of both.

Once I had everything I thought I'd need, I slung the strap of the bag over my shoulder and got ready to go. "You need me to get anything before I leave?" I asked him. "I might be gone for a few days."

Q glanced at the bag, and then back to his bench. "No." He pointed at a box on his work bench. "Maybe drop those off with the girl before you go."

"Alright, I'll be in touch," I told him. As I turned to the door, Sal leapt from the work bench and scurried to catch up. The two of us headed back up to the house proper, leaving the possessive goblin alone with his thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The next morning was busy, as I wrapped up some cases I'd been working on, or at least got them to a point where they could wait. Then I spent mid-day getting ready for the trip, and arranging for a car. I ended up calling a cab company, as the price for a rental was going to be too much, and I didn't know how long I was going to be there.

Once the cab arrived, I loaded my stuff into the trunk, and gave the driver directions to Olivia's apartment.

When I got there, I rang the bell, somehow managing to not drop the box of items Q had asked me to deliver. I shuffled about, and when the door opened, a bright smile awaited me.

"Hey Woody," Olivia said with a cheery grin. "Sal," she added with a nod as the salamander peaked his head out of the small snakewood box in my jacket's breast pocket. He trilled happily at her.

"Hey," I said, shifting the box. The slim girl stepped aside and waved me in to her apartment. When I moved past her, Sal scrambled from his box and up to my shoulder so that he could jump to hers. She started stroking him under the chin as I made my way in.

"So you're heading out of town?" she asked as I placed the box on her kitchen counter. Her place wasn't big, so it was either that, the coffee table, or the bed in the other room.

"Yeah, heading home for a couple days," I explained. I'd texted her earlier that morning to confirm she'd be home, and to explain that I'd need to deliver the items early. "I'll drop off the things Q hadn't finished when I get back."

"No problem," the girl said as she peeked in the box. Sal mirrored her.

"How are things?" I asked her.

"Good," she replied, her dark eyes meeting mine. "Not excited about making deliveries with all this snow on the ground."

"Just tell them to come pick them up instead," I told her.

"But then what would you be paying me for?" she teased.

"Your face is a lot more pleasant to look at than Q's," I assured her.

She brightened at the compliment, even if it wasn't much of one. Yes, she was pretty. But Q was downright ugly, so it wasn't a major accomplishment. A more cynical mind might have taken it as such, but Olivia was anything but cynical.

"How's Tavi?" I asked, thinking of her younger brother. It'd been her efforts to try and find a magical cure for her brother's illness that had made our paths cross.

"Great," she confirmed, her smile growing even warmer at the thought. "No recurrence, and he's even healthy enough to try out for the football team."

"I just hope he doesn't get hurt," I said, but not for the reason you'd think.

"It'll be fine," Olivia assured me, in that same patronizing tone I'd used with Q the night before. "He probably won't make it, but just knowing that he's healthy enough to try is enough."

"Still…" I said, letting my concern show through.

"Relax, Woody," she said with a sympathetic smile. "Our secret is safe."

By our secret, she meant the fact that me, her brother, and herself had eaten seeds from a golden apple. While that might not seem like much, it happened to be a magic apple from some Norse tree that granted those that ate it immortality.

Since we'd only eaten the seeds, we weren't immortal. Far from it. We could still be injured, and could die just as quickly as any other human. But if we survived the injury, the wound would heal at a remarkable rate.

It had been that healing ability that had helped Olivia's brother get better overnight. It had also fixed any medical issues we'd had, including old scars. When she wasn't attending one of the local colleges, Olivia danced. She'd apparently had issues off and on over the years, including problems with her knees and feet. But after she'd eaten one of the seeds, she too had healed up, and remained healthy with her ongoing dancing.

I'd been banged up pretty bad while pursuing the apple, but the seed had righted all those wrongs, as well as any lingering issues I'd had over the years. And unexpectedly, it was the seed that corrected my vision to the point that I no longer needed to wear glasses.

I kept them, as they were entirely too useful to discard. But Q had swapped out the prescription lenses for clear glass, and updated the enchantments.

"Alright," I said, letting it go. Who was I to tell a boy that'd spent years of his life in a hospital bed that he couldn't enjoy himself now that he was better.

"So why are you heading home?" she asked, changing the subject as she idly scratched at Sal's head. He seemed pleased with the situation, and was emitting soft contented trills. "Weren't you just there over the summer?"

"Yeah," I confirmed. "Mom called me on a case. Jekyll and Hyde type, possibly."

"Wow, really?" Olivia asked, her eyes widening in surprise. I'd told her previously about the strained relationship with my parents due to their flat out refusal to acknowledge the supernatural world, despite having seen Sal do incredible things more than once.

"Yup. Some kids have died," I explained.

At my words, her mood dampened. "Oh."

I mentally kicked myself. Having only just regained her brother from death's door, that subject was probably sensitive to Olivia. But her smile came back as Sal rubbed against her neck. "Well, I'm sure you'll take care of it."

"Thanks," I said as I headed toward the door. She trailed after me. "I'd better go before the cab takes off with my stuff."

"Good luck," she said as she held the door open. Sal jumped back across to my shoulder as we hugged. When we pulled apart, Olivia ran her hand over my dark leather jacket, no doubt thinking about its origins. "With the case, and your parents."

"Thanks," I repeated. "I think I'm going to need it."

With our farewells finished, I headed back down to the cab, and began the journey back to my childhood home.

* * *

It seemed to take forever to get to Lake Providence. The snow wasn't nearly as bad once we were out of Chicago, but the cabbie was in no hurry to push it. What should have been an hour and a half trip took a little over two hours.

Lake Providence is a small township just over the border from Indiana. The community was largely divided between the wealthy families that owned sprawling estates near the waterfront, and the normal folks that worked and lived where others simply vacationed.

My parents lived in the same neighborhood as my grandmother. Their homes weren't anything remarkable, save their location. The neighborhood was right on the water, and had managed to hold on rather than being bought out by developers looking to build a handful of houses for the wealthy in a space currently used by dozens of families.

My parents' house wasn't on the water, but it was only a street away. It was a small one-story home with three bedrooms; one for them, one for me, and one that had been empty for a long time.

It was late afternoon when we finally pulled up to my parent's house. After settling up, I unloaded my bags and headed for the door. I rang the bell, and waited for a minute before I realized both of my parents were likely still at work. I was just fishing around for me keys when the door opened, and my grandmother appeared with a smile.

"Woodrow," she said warmly. "It's been too long."

"Nana, it's only been a few months," I said as I shuffled into the house. I put my suitcase down, and the silver haired lady pulled me into a hug.

She was shorter than I was by a few inches, but her seemingly frail form held a surprising strength. Nana Hayes was in great shape for her age, and got around as well as women twenty years her junior. My mother said as much, seeing as she was twenty years her junior, and complained that it was hard to keep up with her mother-in-law.

"My, what's this?" Nana asked, holding me at arm's length to look me over. "Is this a new coat?"

"Yes mam," I replied as I shrugged off the sports bag that held my assorted paraphernalia.

"It certainly looks nice. What is that?" she inquired, a curious look to her eyes as she inspected the jacket. Her fingers absently trailed over the dark fabric.

"Leather," I said simply.

The old lady slapped my shoulder gently. "I can see that. But the fabric is nice. It seems familiar."

Somehow I doubted that. I didn't think my Nana would want to hear about the Balaur skin Bailey had given me, or how after some inquiries, I'd sent it off to Monoc Securities for them to fashion it into a black motorcross jacket.

"I don't know, just leather," I said as she noticed the matching gloves I wore. I was surprised she'd even commented on the fabric. To outward appearances, it didn't look any different from something you'd buy off a rack. Gard had promised that the armorers she knew could work with the material and retain its durability, while also making sure that it didn't look like I was wearing a dragonskin coat.

Hopefully Nana wouldn't notice the boots, and I was glad I'd worn jeans rather than the pants. Those were tucked away in the sports bag.

"I'm sure it'll keep you safe," she said, and after a beat, added, "and warm."

"That it does," I assured her. "Did you come over just to let me in?" I asked as we made our way back to my old room.

"Your mother wanted someone here to greet you," Nana explained.

"Do you know if she's at the station?" I asked as I opened the door to my room.

There were fresh linens on the bed, and the room was well kept. I'd stayed there earlier in the year when I'd come to visit, and came often enough that the sense of nostalgia was bearable.

"I believe so," Nana replied as she watched me put my bags at the foot of the bed. "You could use the Wagon to get around if you like."

"Thanks," I said with a genuine smile.

Growing up, my parents couldn't afford to get me a car in high school. By then, my grandmother wasn't driving much, so she'd lent me her '84 Jeep Wagoneer. It'd been the source of some jokes back then, as the kids at school had quickly dubbed it "Woody's Woodie". Whenever I came into town, she'd offer it up. In the colder months, I'd usually take her up on it.

"That'd be great," I told her.

"I'll walk you over when you're ready," Nana said, and shuffled out of the room.

Before she found her way back, I hastily removed some things from the sports bag. Some were stashed in my drawers, while others made their way to my pockets. Once the bag was almost empty, I slung it over my shoulder and headed out.

* * *

A short time later, I parked the SUV in the police station's lot and headed inside.

The man behind the front desk waived me through, and I headed back toward the police chief's office. I'd been through more than once in my lifetime, and most of the folks there recognized me for one reason or another. My mother would be ashamed to admit how many times I'd been led to the holding cells rather than her office.

When I got there, the door was closed. I could see through the window that she was meeting with someone, so I settled into a chair further down the row. As I did, I looked around the small police station. There was a tension in the air, which I guess was understandable if there were kids dying. I could see a lot of red eyes and heavy eyelids, no doubt from officers and detectives working overtime to figure out what was going on.

I ended up waiting another fifteen minutes before the door opened, and four people stepped out.

The first was a middle-aged woman that dressed like she had money to spend on the finer things in life. There were plenty of those around Lake Providence, so that wasn't too surprising. Her blond hair looked like an expensive salon job rather than a bottle job, and her fit form was undoubtedly due to the work of a personal trainer. As she looked back at the others still in the office, I could she was visibly upset, but more irate at an inconvenience than anything.

The kid next to her was similarly attired, but seemed bored. He had an aloof posture, as if whatever the adults were worked up over had nothing to do with him. His hair was the typical disheveled look that boy bands made popular. He looked to be in his very early twenties.

The third out was a man, most likely the husband and father of the other two. He was dressed like money as well, but his livid face made him look ugly. I couldn't hear the low words he whispered harshly at my mother, but I knew if I could, I'd probably be escorted to the holding cells. Again.

After one last undoubtedly barbed comment, the family strode off, leaving my mother standing alone in the doorway. She hadn't noticed my presence, so it gave me a moment to study her.

Her black hair was cut short in a pixie style; a calculated look that left sexist men less inclined to think her soft, yet professional enough to be taken seriously. Her skin was tan despite the winter weather, due to her tendency toward a darker complexion. I was glad I got that from her, as the alternative was the pasty white of my father.

She was a tall woman, almost six feet herself, and what you might describe as lithe. She worked out, keeping herself in patrolwoman shape despite being in her early fifties.

I could tell that my mother was stressed by the way she stood. Her shoulders were arched back, a familiar posture I'd seen in my rebellious teen years whenever I challenged my parents' authority. It was her bracing stance, the one that indicated she was prepared to weather whatever came.

I stood, and the movement caught her eye. When she turned, her stoic expression fell into a more relaxed smile as her green eyes brightened. Another trait I'd inherited from her.

"Woody," she said, nodding as I approached. She gestured toward her office, and I slipped past her. Once she'd closed the door behind her, she embraced me in a hug.

"Did you bring your license?" she asked me as she stepped back, arching an eyebrow.

Leave it to the copper mom to feel the under-arm holster, even if the gun was secured in my bag.

"Yes, mom," I said with a tired smile.

"Good," she said, and settled into her chair behind the desk. I sat in one of the chairs recently vacated by the disgruntled family.

"Who was that?" I asked, nodding back toward the front.

"The Connors," she said, blowing a puff of air. "Their name was brought up in the investigation, and we'd requested to interview the son, Gregg. Dr. And Mrs. Connors weren't pleased."

"I could tell." I looked over the room, and found it mostly unchanged, other than a fresh stack of paperwork on her desk. "What's with the case?"

My mother hesitated, an unsure look crossing her face. That was something I wasn't used to. It made me a little uneasy.

"Three deaths," she said, falling into her professional voice. "One each night for the last three nights. Each death occurred not long after sunset. Each was a young man or woman, between eighteen and twenty. Locals that have already graduated, but stuck around rather than going off to school. Each died at different locations under similar circumstances."

"What circumstances?" I asked.

"All three died from smoke inhalation," she replied, her confidence beginning to fade as her voice softened.

"What's odd about that?"

My mother hesitated again. "The first died in his bedroom. The second at work. The third died in her car while she was out at the dunes with her boyfriend."

"How's the boyfriend?" I asked.

"Perfectly fine," my mother said, casting me a low look before glancing away. "No issues."

"Was he not in the car?" I inquired, growing confused.

"No, he was in the car," she said softy.

"How does that work? Did she smoke something poisonous?"

"No," she replied. "None of them were smoking anything. There were no fires, either."

"Ah," I said, my eyebrows rising. "No obvious source for the smoke?"

"No," she said, unable to meet my eyes.

"What did the boyfriend say?" I asked, trying to focus on the facts rather than my mother's alien behavior.

"He said that the car filled with smoke, and Melanie couldn't breath."

"But he could?" I clarified.

"He says that the smoke seemed to concentrate on the girl," my mother explained. She tried to make it sound like a perfectly reasonable sentence.

"I see."

She glanced over my shoulder, and then quickly reached for a drawer, and pulled out a clip-on I.D. and a form. "Sign the bottom," she said with some urgency.

I took a pen from her desk and glanced at the document before signing. It looked like your standard consultant's agreement for confidentiality.

As I finished, a knock sounded at the door. Rather than waiting for a response, the person opened it and came in, and was trailed by a second man.

The first was the Lake Providence Fire Chief. He was short, probably about six inches shorter than myself. He was what you'd call barrel chested, as stocky as I was lean, and carried himself with an air of authority. His sandy blond hair was cut short, a buzz cut grown out a week or two. His flinty blue eyes took me in, and he gave an unsurprised snort.

The second man was notably more friendly, and had a ready smile for me. His own dark hair mimicked the first man's appearance, although his towering height, brown eyes and darker complexion made a significant contrast.

"Well, well. The pyro-digal son returns," Lieutenant Wendall Simmons said, a gentle mocking tone softening the pun.

"Shut up, Simmons," the fire chief said, not even casting a glance over his shoulder at his second in command. His eyes were on my mother. "I thought I told you I didn't want to hire any consultants on this."

"You're not," my mother replied. "We are."

"He can't work in this county," he replied, hitching his thumbs in his belt.

"Why not?" I asked, frowning.

"Because your name is listed as a suspect on half the unsolved arson cases in this town, and everybody knows it," he shot back, glancing my way. Turning back to my mother, he added, "No-one is going to take him seriously."

"Do you know anyone else that has the unique perspective that this case requires?" Police Chief Hayes asked, her tone just as authoritative as the Fire Chief's had been.

"I can't think of anyone that would be worse," he replied, his tone making it clear that he thought my mother was being dense. "But if you want to hire him, let it be on your head. I'm certainly not going to have anything to do with it."

He turned back toward the door, and Simmons took the hint. He headed out, and was followed by the chief. At the door, the man hesitated, and cast another glance at me. "No offense."

I looked up at the man who had quickly and efficiently reminded me why I had absolutely no chance at ever being respected in my hometown. The man who had personally made my life a living hell back when everyone had thought me a young pyromaniac in the making, and who had been more than happy when I'd headed out of town. The man that would always think of me of as an arsonist rather than a licensed arson investigator.

"None taken, dad."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

After our delightful family reunion, my mother sent me on my way with my consultant's badge and paperwork authorizing me to investigate.

She offered to accompany me, but I declined. It was apparent that she was busy running the investigation from the station. And I didn't want a patrolman shadowing me. Not when there were so many rumors about the son of the Chiefs, and his criminal past. I knew I'd be on the receiving end of a polite interrogation about our family history.

So instead, I set out with a list of names, addresses, and copies of what had been found so far.

As my mother had described, the first two victims had been alone when they died. The first had been hung over from a party the night before, and had gone to bed early. His parents heard his muffled cries from downstairs, and by the time they got to his room, he was dead.

The second had been working at a local pizza place. He'd been in the kitchen alone, and when the cashier got back from ringing up a customer, had found him dead on the floor.

Neither the parents nor the co-worker had reported anything about smoke. There had apparently been a smell in the air, but nothing they could identify. The parents assumed it was something from the fireplace, which they'd started to ward off the early onset of winter. The co-worker had smelled something as well, but attributed it to the burning pizza in the oven.

The police had asked the questions about the smoke earlier that day, after the third victim's boyfriend had given his statement. With the other two deaths over twenty-four hours old, there was no way that anyone could hope to try and pick up a trace of the scent.

Well. Anyone but Sal.

I'd left him in my grandmother's SUV when I went into the station. My mother was used to his presence, but his penchant for running off after coffee grounds was an issue in the precinct. When he'd previously realized they used instant or powdered coffee rather than the real stuff, he'd lit some wooden stir sticks on fire. It hadn't been convenient that a known arsonist was in the building at the time, even if I was nowhere near where it happened.

The last thing I needed on this trip was to have to explain why the police station had burst into flames while I happened to be back in town, all because they couldn't afford proper coffee beans.

But as we approached the first victim's house, I made sure he was snug in his snakewood box, with instructions to only come out when I said it was clear.

The parents were locals, in the sense that they actually worked locally for a living. Their house was a modest two-story home in the area that residents called their own. They weren't among the wealthiest, but they seemed to be living comfortably.

That is, up until their world was destroyed.

Both parents were home, and neither was thrilled to see me. I identified myself, and showed them the badge and paperwork. We spoke for a few minutes about the night in question, but I didn't press them. They were grieving, and their subconscious minds were struggling to understand how their son had died.

After a few basic questions, they showed me up to their son's room. They left me alone, and I tapped the breast pocket that contained Sal's box.

"Show-time," I said softly. A moment later, the salamander stuck his head out of the box. I saw him take a familiar sniff, and then he scrambled out of my pocket.

While he circled the room, sniffing back and forth like a hound-dog on a scent, I looked the room over. It was on a back corner of the house, with windows to the side and rear. I noted a small, covered back porch was directly beneath the rear window. The yard beyond was growing dark as the sun continued its descent, and I realized it would be dark before too long.

A trill caught my attention, and I turned back to find Sal standing on the floor in the far corner of the room. He was looking up, and my gaze followed his. I saw that there was an air vent directly overhead.

"Something up there?" I asked him, to which he replied with an affirmative trill. I headed over and picked him up, and then held him aloft beneath the vent.

The salamander sniffed for a second, and then barked down at me. I lowered him, and he scrambled back toward his box.

"Did you smell—" I began, but cut myself short when someone appeared at the doorway.

"I'm sorry," the father said, his face as ashen as it had been since he'd found his son dead. He didn't look toward the bed, and instead kept his gaze on me. "We're going to step out to a neighbor's house."

"Of course," I said sympathetically.

He led me back downstairs, and I made my way back to the street where I'd parked Nana's Wagoneer. It wasn't until I was back in the SUV, with the engine on and the heater going, that I asked my question.

"Did you smell something?" I asked. An affirmative trill came back from the little head jutting from the box. "Enough to track?"

Sal gave a warbling trill I'd come to associate with indecision or un-surety.

"Okay, we'll try the next place."

I steered the wagon out into the road, which was clear of any snow. There was still plenty on the sides of the road and in the yards, and more than a few branches were sagging under the weight of it. It was oddly cold weather for November, but it didn't seem nearly as bad as it'd been in Chicago.

It was ten minutes before I got to the second victim's house. They didn't live that far from the first family, but I wasn't familiar with every neighborhood in the township, and had to find my way by map. The area wasn't huge, but it was big enough for two high schools. Mostly because the higher class parts of town didn't want their kids learning side-by-side with the riff-raff.

About five minutes later, I was on my way. The family hadn't wished to speak to me, and there wasn't anything for me to find. I'd just wanted to run some basic questions by them, but they'd rebuffed every inquiry. To them, their son's death was an unfortunate workplace accident. The notes in the file seemed to suggest that the family was considering suing the pizza place, and the case being tied to others wasn't going to help their cause. I found the theorized selfish motivations heartless and crude, and hoped that the officers were wrong.

Instead, I used what little remaining light there was to head over to the Pizza 'Spress.

It was closer to the high end part of Lake Providence, and likely catered to the wealthy. That explained why they had a small dining area in front of what should have been solely a take-out and delivery store. Most likely they'd had someone complain they couldn't eat there, and the managers had scrambled to find seating worthy of their patrons.

I met with the manager, a young guy named Jack. I thought I recalled him from high school, but couldn't remember his last name until he gave it. I identified myself, and he seemed to remember me.

"I wasn't in that night," he explained. "Pete, Courtney and Bill were working, and the other guys were out making deliveries."

"Are either of them here tonight?" I asked, hoping to interview Bill. There had been no mention of Courtney in the police report, so I wasn't sure what she knew.

"Bill is," Jack confirmed. "He's the one that found Pete. Courtney had taken off for her dinner break, which is why Bill was up front helping customers."

"Can I speak with Bill?"

"Sure," Jack said nervously. Rather than lead me into the kitchen, he led Bill out, and the two of us headed outside to speak.

"What do you recall about finding him?" I asked as we stood under the front canopy as night fell. I wanted a cigarette, but I thought it might be insensitive when asking about the friend that had died of smoke inhalation.

"Nothing," Bill said with a shake of his head. He was little more than a kid, most likely sixteen or seventeen. His eyes were wide as he spoke, and I knew the sight of his friend lying in the kitchen would be lasting.

"Were there any odors? Anything unfamiliar?" I asked.

"No," the kid replied. "They were worried there might a gas leak, so we were closed yesterday while they inspected. But there was nothing."

"Nothing at all?" I pressed. "I understand that the smell of the pizza must have been overpowering, but could there have been anything else?"

"Well," Bill said, hesitating for a moment. "I mean, there might have been the smell from a fireplace. But that's it."

"A fireplace?"

"Yeah, you know. Like a wood fire." He glanced at the store, and then back to me. "But we don't have a wood oven or anything. So it must have been the pizzas burning, right?"

"Right," I said while nodding. "I'm sure it was just the pizzas."

I asked him a few other questions, about anything odd in Pete's routine. The kid said they hadn't really been friends, as the victim was several years older. He knew that Pete had taken a night off for something a few evenings earlier, but didn't know what for.

"What night was that?" I asked, taking notes.

"Four nights ago," the kid said. "I know because Sam had to cover. Pete told Jack he was sick, but he didn't seem sick."

"Right," I said, jotting it down. "Do you think I could see the kitchen?"

"They've already been through it," he said, sounding worried. "They said there wasn't anything wrong."

"I just want to take a look," I explained. "Get a feel for the scene."

"Uh, right," he said, and led me back in. The cashier gave us a glance as we passed by, and then we continued on to the kitchen.

Jack the manager and another guy were in the back, and looked up as we came in. I explained to them that I just wanted to take a look around, and they nodded silently.

The space wasn't large. There was an open doorway between the kitchen and the front, so the attack couldn't have made much noise. If it had, Bill would have heard it. So the second attack, if it was that, must have been quieter than the first.

There was a back door leading out behind the strip mall where the Pizza 'Spress was located. I noted that it had an alarm on it, but it was turned off while the business was open. Even though they kept the door closed, I could see that they taped the latch, most likely so they could slip in and out the back for smoke breaks during shifts.

It was clear at a glance that there was nowhere to hide in the room, save for a small freezer where they kept their supplies. There were air vents here and there, which I made sure to inspect, hoping that Sal would pick something up. The lid of the snakewood box was open in my breast pocket. But rather than a helpful trill from finding a recognizable scent, all I got was a swooning trill when we hovered over a finished pizza.

Before he ended up leaping into the pie, I thanked the others for their help, and made my exit.

As I headed for the car, the sun was fully down. Even though the evening wasn't terribly late, I didn't want to press my luck with trying to interview the third victim's family or her boyfriend. Best to leave those for the next day.

Instead, I headed toward my parents house, all the while wondering at what we were dealing with.

I was no expert on monsters and creatures, but I was fairly certain we were dealing with something supernatural. There was always the possibility that it was something mundane, and the tox screen would come back saying that the kids had all been exposed to something. But as I'd yet to find a connection between them, I wasn't sure what it could be.

When I reached my parents house, I still didn't have any answers.

Moments after I parked in front of their place, a second pair of headlights pulled into the driveway. I glanced over, and saw my mom's work vehicle park beside the house. I clambered out, and went to meet her at the side door.

"Any luck?" she asked when she spotted me.

"Still looking into it," I explained. "The second victim's family wasn't all that keen on talking."

"I remember," she said, a somewhat bitter tone creeping into her voice. "Rumor is that they're going for a settlement from Pizza 'Spress."

"I swung by there, but didn't find anything out of the ordinary."

She glanced at me, looking as if she wanted to ask me a question. As if she wanted to know exactly how I did what I did, or at least, what I believed I did. I could tell that she was still just as skeptical about the supernatural as she'd always been.

But something about this case had seemed off to her, and she'd called me to help. That meant that she wasn't as sure as she'd once been.

"Why did you call me?" I asked, leaning against her car as I lit up a smoke. Her eyes bore holes into my hand as I held it, and I offered her one. She hesitated, shooting a glance out to the street. No doubt she was worried that my father would come home and find her smoking again.

Let's just say the Fire Chief didn't approve.

She'd smoked years earlier, but had quit after countless battles. It hadn't meant enough to her to put up with them, so she'd given in. But faced with a stressful case with kids dying, I had no doubt she was craving a smoke.

I wasn't terribly surprised when she took it.

"Where's your lighter?" she asked.

I stared at her dumbly.

"Here, light it off mine," I replied, holding mine out. She looked ready to argue, but I lied smoothly. "Low on fuel."

It was easier to say that than explain that I'd used one of the magic rings on my hands to light my own.

She lit her cigarette from the burning tip of mine and passed it back to me. I watched as she inhaled, a look of satisfaction crossing her face before she exhaled slowly. "Your father is going to yell," she said, sounding like she was willing to deal with that when the time came.

"Just tell him I pressured you," I told her, keeping most of my childish bitterness out of my voice. "It's not like he could think any less of me."

"Woody," mom said, shooting my a sympathizing look. "Your father loves you. But you know how hard it was for him to hold on to his job after everything."

Boy did I ever. But he wasn't the only one that who's job had been in jeopardy. Mom had been just as close to losing hers, but I didn't see her judging me or berating my choices. I didn't see why dad's behavior should be excused.

It was an old argument, and one I wasn't willing to dredge up again.

"Anyway," I said, changing course, "I haven't found anything conclusive. There were still traces of an odor at the first victim's house, but I couldn't find anything at the pizza place. The cooking smells were too overpowering."

My mother gave me that curious look again, but didn't question my methods. She started to ask what the odor could mean, but cut short when a wedged orange and yellow head popped up from the box in my coat.

"Sal!" my mother exclaimed, startled at his sudden appearance. She shot me a scathing look. "Woody, it's entirely too cold out for him to be in your pocket."

"Mom—" I began, but she cut me off as stubbed out her cigarette.

"Inside. Now," she ordered, as she pulled her keys out and started heading for side door.

I stubbed out my own smoke, knowing it wouldn't do any good to tell mom that Sal was a fire elemental that wouldn't get cold. I'd told her before, but it never made a difference. She didn't believe.

We walked up onto the side porch, and mom fumbled for the key. While she did that, she opened the glass door and held it open while reaching for the lock.

I was too busy thinking about the unfinished cigarette to notice when Sal first started growling. Mom turned back to me, shooting Sal a confused look. When I glanced down, I saw him looking toward the back yard. As I lifted my head to look up, he scrambled out of the box and up to my shoulder.

"What is he doing?" my mom asked.

Rather than answering, I kept my attention on the shadows toward the rear of the house. My mom started to repeat her question just as a figure limped into view.

I say limped, but it wasn't injured. The thing's form was hunched and curved, with long arms that reached the ground as it squatted in the shadows; it's hands were huge, and it propped itself up on its knuckles. It was hard to tell in the dark, but it looked like its skin was a mottled shades of sickly greens.

The beast's posture was so misshapen that its spine seemed to curve forward, leaving its shoulders facing forward. Where the base of the neck should have been was a giant, glowing green eye the size of a volley ball. A hideous jaw of jagged teeth sagged beneath it, looking too disfigured to be able to properly close.

It's single eye swiveled back and forth between us for just a second. And then, with startling speed, its hind legs kicked out, sending it hurtling at us. I had no time to respond as the gaping maw opened wider, and an angry red light began to glow within the eye as the beast let out an ear piecing shriek.

My mother turned, and I saw her eyes go wide as the drooling mouth and razor sharp claws of a monster from her nightmares crashed down us.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The only thing that saved us from the beast's initial attack was the outer glass door.

The thing crashed into it, seeming to not understand why the air in front of my mother had grown solid. The glass shattered as its eye hit it, and I saw the think blink in confusion. Then it shook itself, and refocused on my mother.

The slight delay gave me enough time to position myself between it and her. I shover her back as I raised my right forearm. The beast's teeth snapped down on my arm, and began to shake its head, trying to tear my arm out of its socket.

The razor sharp teeth would have shredded my skin, and most likely even my old spellworked jackets. But my new jacket, spellworked by both goblin and Valkyrie magics, and made from the supernaturally dense hide of a Balaur dragon, was durable enough to withstand its savage bite.

That didn't mean that it didn't hurt like hell. The monster's bite was tremendously strong, and while the teeth didn't puncture the sleeve, the pressure alone was nearly enough to break my arm.

The monster shook like a dog worrying a bone, and my body shook with it. I managed to quickly shout, "Mom, get inside!" before the thing realized I was less edible than I looked, and changed its tactics.

Its body was resting on the railing of the small porch, on the other side of the now broken outer door. I saw the muscles of its legs bunch, the limbs longer than their hunched form appeared. As it kicked out, the railing cracked under the force from the beast's multi-jointed legs.

Since it had my arm locked between its teeth, I found myself tumbling after it. My body bounced painfully off the frame of the glass door as the thing dragged me through, and then its arms were grabbing me and helping hurl me back over its back.

I didn't know about the long protruding spikes on its back until I rolled across them. My jacket protected me from their sharp edges, and then I was hurled into the back yard.

The beast, entirely too fast and agile in my opinion, seemed to flip in place as I was sent flying. The sports bag over my shoulder tumbled free as I tumbled helplessly through the air. When I finally crashed into the snow five yards behind the creature, I twisted to see that it had completed its head-over-heels flip after throwing me, and was just beginning to spring back up at my mother.

She was still standing on the porch, dumbfounded by what she was seeing. If she'd gone inside, she could have put a threshold between herself and the monster. But the shock of seeing the supernatural beast leaping out at her was too much for her to process.

Thankfully, at least one of us knew what he was doing.

I hadn't realized Sal had leapt from my shoulder while we were still on the porch. I only realized where he was when he leapt from atop my mother, and grew in size as he did. The air swirled around him as the salamander absorbed enough power and magic to increase his body to that of a doberman.

He used to only get to the size of a small terrier, but ever since he'd eaten the apple stem from the same golden apple that had given me a somewhat enhanced healing rate, Sal's power and strength had been increasing.

A flaming comet met the beast's second leap, as Sal knocked it backwards. The two tumbled to the ground in front of me, the fire elemental blazing in the snow as he tried to burn the creature alive. Sal's clawed toes and sharp teeth gnashed at the thing, even as the one-eyed beast fought back.

Despite his increased size, Sal still wasn't a match for the monster we were facing. He got a few good shots in, but then the thing flipped again, its hunched and compact body seemingly designed for narrow-space fighting. It got a grip on Sal as it twisted, and threw the flaming salamander to the driveway.

It was spinning back around toward my mother when I wrenched the bead bracelet from my left wrist and threw it at the creature from behind.

" _Gwedh!_ " I shouted as the beads flew. At the command word, glowing lines of green energy shot out to connect all the beads into a fine wire mesh. Before they reached the monster, the glow had already started to fade, leaving the netting behind to encompass it.

The beads wrapped around the thing, and it shrieked in frustration as it stumbled. It hit the side of the porch, and then rolled onto its back as it started clawing at the magical netting around it, thrashing in the wet puddle of melted snow.

"Mom, get inside!" I shouted at her as I drew a kunai throwing knife from my pocket. The silver sheen of the blade glinted in the light from Sal's flames. I ran forward, even as Sal scrambled back up the porch to stay between the thing and my mother.

"What is that?!" my mom shouted. Her voice was alarmed, but not panicked. You don't become the chief of any police station if you're the type to lose your cool.

"No idea!" I shouted as I closed on the beast.

As I reached it, the sound of squealing metal pierced my ears. I flinched, and then looked in stunned disbelief as the monster tore the magical netting to shreds before my very eyes.

That magical spell was powerful. It should have kept the thing immobilized long enough for me to close and finish it with the knife. But that didn't seem to matter to the beast, which rose and spun in the remnants of the net to meet my charge.

I slashed at it with the blade, and the metal knife cut as swath through the thing's left arm. It howled in surprise, and lashed down with its right arm even as it began to leap over my head.

I managed to get my left arm over me, so its wicked claws raked across my jacket rather than my scalp. Even though it didn't shred me open with the blow, the force behind it was enough to throw me to my knees.

The thing completed its flip, changing directions in mid-air like it was Yoda or something. It fell into a crouch five yards away, its long arms bracing itself as the red eye focused on me.

I met its gaze, and immediately regretted it. A nauseous and dizzying feeling came over me, and I found myself thinking about just lying down for a minute. The thing's gaze intensified, as did the glow from the large orb. My stomach turned, and my forehead broke out into a sweat.

I grunted, falling forward onto all fours. My arms trembled, and I thought for sure I must have come down with a fever while running a marathon.

Two shots rang out in the night, followed quickly by a pained shriek. I managed to lift my head and glanced over my shoulder. My mother stood on the porch, her service weapon drawn and aimed at the monster.

I turned back and checked on the beast, which had fallen back. Its eye was bleeding, a round taking it in the flesh just to the right of it. A second round looked to have pierced its jaw, and I saw ichor leaking onto the ground beneath it.

It seemed to waver for a moment, but then its eye snapped back around. I saw a flash of red, but then the orb was back to its original green color as it looked over me at my mother.

"Hngh," I heard her grunt, and realized with a start that she was feeling the same disorienting feeling that I had moments earlier. It must have been some sort of attack tied into the thing's sight. When it wasn't focused on me, I wasn't affected.

From my kneeling position, I flicked the Kenku's knife at the creature. The enchanted blade, made from a combination of metals in an exacting process, should have pierced the thing's eye. But it must have seen it coming.

The beast slid to one side, leaning its body away from the blade as it flicked past. Its gaze shifted back down to me, and the glowing hues shifted back into the red spectrum as it focused the attack on me.

I felt gorge trying to force its way up my throat, but the affect lasted only for a second. A fireball leapt passed me and hurtled into the creature. The two tumbled around for a second, rolling across one another and sending snow flying up into the air. After they'd wrestled for about ten yards, the creature regained its balance, and flung Sal aside.

One benefit from Sal's attack was that he'd moved the creature farther away. That meant I had a few precious seconds to try and re-arm myself. The knife was the most powerful weapon I had on me, and I'd just flung that away. I had another net bracelet on my other wrist, but as the first hadn't done much, I didn't hold out much hope for it.

As it righted itself, I pulled a pair of iron balls from my coat pocket. They were the size of pool balls, and I heaved them at the creature as it started running toward me. " _Gwedh!_ " I shouted again, binding the two balls together by another magical line.

The bola weapon shot forward, the balls spinning around each other toward the creature's legs. I'd seen the weapon work flawlessly more than once, as the spellworked metal compensated for bad aim and weak throws.

But even the spells couldn't match the speed of the creature.

Just before the spinning bola reached it, the creature leapt, completing a forward flip that carried it over the weapon. The bola shot out into the dark as the beast landed, barely slowed by the exchange.

Two more shots rang out as my mother recovered from whatever spell it cast with its glowing eye. The thing staggered, but continued toward us even as another three shots struck home.

I slid across the snow, my legs soaked, as my mother fired another two shots. I'd been keeping count, and knew that her magazine was spent. She likely had a spare, since she'd always taught me to carry the same. But she wouldn't be able to reload in the time it would take the creature to be on us.

While she was still firing, I made for the sports bag that had fallen off my shoulder when the creature had pulled me through the broken door. I hastily tore the zipper open, and withdrew the two foot length of steel.

The dark metal, its solid form broken by a swirling pattern of silver from end to end, was cool to the touch as I twisted around toward the creature. It had recovered from my mother's attack, and was running toward us on all fours.

As it sprung into the air, arcing toward the porch, I grasped the metal rod in both hands, and shouted a command word. " _Anda-ehtë!_ "

Magic coursed through the rod, activating one of its forms. On the back end, where a small silver pommel jutted from the rod, another foot of worked steel shot out. The third foot was narrower than the rest, as it fit within the main shaft. It had the same dark metal with silver etchings as the main segment, and tapered into the small pommel.

The other end opened, and a foot long blade snapped out, turning the staff into a spear. The dual-edged blade glinted in the meager porch light, and was trailed by a very small guard.

Once it reached its full four foot length, I stood, thrusting the spear at the oncoming monster.

The blade sank into the thing's chest at it tried to leap over me, and an agonized scream shook the windows as it wailed.

The creature was heavy, and I fell to a knee so that I could brace the spear pommel on the ground. I kept the monster aloft, and it tore at the shaft of the blade with its claws, trying to break it.

But the creature was a demon of some sort, and susceptible to iron. As it writhed on the spear, the steel head caused it to smoke and boil from the inside. Where it grasped the metal shaft, its hands and claws sizzled and burned at a touch. Gore dripped from it as its body began to bubble and burst from the contact with the baneful metal. Even the guard, propping the beast on the end of the spear, burned the flesh of the thing.

I stared up at the monster that had tried to kill my mother. A visceral hate and loathing filled me, and my voice was rough as I whispered another command. " _Saiwa-nasta._ "

Within the chest of the beast, the spearhead responded to the spell. In an instant, the metal grew red-hot, and the creature burst into flames. Its howl turned into a gurgling wail as smoke and cinder drifted up from its maw, and then the entire thing burst, its mortal form destroyed by fire and steel.

I collapsed backward into the snow as exhaustion overwhelmed me, even as the remnants of the beast drifted by as ashes on the wind. There was nothing left of it but sizzling puddles of ectoplasm, which quickly dissipated in the cold night air.

The spearhead wavered overhead, the metal of the blade red and glowing. I whispered another command, and the magic fueling it fled. I dipped the weapon down, cooling the blade in the snow. It sizzled for a second, but then the heat was gone.

" _Senna-vandl_ ," I gasped softly. At the command, the two extensions retreated back into the main segment, leaving the spear looking like a harmless two foot length of engraved steel.

"What…" my mother whispered behind me, her voice breathless. I tilted my head back, and looked to where she stood on the porch. Her gun was pointed down and away, the spent magazine lying on the edge of the porch and a fresh one jammed home.

Her green eyes shifted around to me, wide and lost.

"What…" she repeated, but then trailed off again as she turned to watch the approaching form of Sal.

He was still in his larger size, his body equal to that of a doberman, but with shorter legs, leaving him low over the ground. His long tail trailed out behind him, and the snow melted beneath his body as he crept forward.

He gave a soft trill, the sound of it louder than his normal call due to his increased size. The tone was familiar, an inquiring note.

"We're okay, buddy," I told him.

The salamander looked up to my mother, another questioning trill ruminating from his thick throat. My mother just sank to her knees in disbelief, staring down at the two of us.

"It's real," she said softly, as the last of her doubts burned away like the gore in the snow. "It's really real."

"Welcome to my world," I said softly with a smile.

She looked to me, her eyes huge, before shaking her head.

"I'm going to need another cigarette."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The first responders arrived just a few minutes after everything had ended. A couple of the neighbors had called it in, and then come over to check on us. They found my mother and I smoking in the driveway, with Sal back to his normal size and in his snakewood box.

Even when your mom is the Chief of Police, it takes a while to muck through the red tape. The report said that an attacker had been waiting for us in the shadows of the back yard, and mom had opened fire when they brandished a weapon.

It didn't explain the scorch marks on the snow and bushes lining the property line, so we said that my cigarette had been hastily discarded, and must have caught on something.

That last excuse didn't go over well when my dad arrived. Especially when he found me smoking.

"What the hell are you thinking?!" he shouted at me, staring up from his shorter height. Snatching the cigarette from my fingers, he threw it to the ground and crushed it with his boot. "Like you haven't already caused enough trouble with this shit?!"

The cops and firemen all quickly turned a blind eye, finding other things to look at.

"Sam," my mother said sharply as she approached from where she'd been speaking with another cop.

"Don't cover for him, Barbara," my father warned, turning on her. "Not all of this was his fault, but his nonsense didn't help matters."

"You have no idea—" mom started, but I cut her off.

"It's okay," I said, my voice weary.

"It's certainly not okay," my father barked, his face growing dark. "You've been home less than a day, and you've already started a _fire at our house!_ "

"Samuel!" my mother snapped.

But she went unheeded as my father continued. "And then I find you smoking? When will you ever learn from your mistakes?"

"Samuel, shut the fuck up."

That did the trick.

My father and I both turned to my mother, who cursed less than a priest. Her tone had been low, so only those close had heard her, but others still turned with wide eyes to stare.

Mom didn't pay them any mind. While she had my father's undivided attention, she stepped closer, looming over his form. "Honey, we've been through a lot just now. And I know you're upset because you're worried about both of us. But please calm down. I will explain everything later."

Her words must have stunned and confused my father enough to make him rethink his behavior. Even if he wasn't done dealing with me, he at least realized that having it out in front of his and mom's subordinates wasn't the best idea.

"What's there to explain?" he finally asked, his voice more tempered.

"Later," my mother said. She turned to me, and nodded toward her car. "I've got to go. There's been another death."

"Shit," my father and I said in unison. We glanced at each other, and then back to my mother. "Same thing as before?" he asked.

"Looks like it," she replied. "Another local kid. Only this time… this time there's something different about the crime scene."

"Do you want me to go with?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, giving me a stern look. "We can discuss everything that's happened so far."

I'm sure to my dad that it sounded like she was talking about the case. But I figured she'd be grilling me about _everything_. She and dad wandered off, and I headed over to a chair on their front porch and waited for her to be ready. I closed my eyes, and let the weariness run its course.

My new weapon was incredible. Almost a dozen different creatures helped with different aspects of it, including preparing numerous spells that made it useful in several ways. With all the magic that had been worked into the spear, it was a simple matter to activate whichever I needed.

The spells themselves drew on magical energy that was all around us. No-one could give me a definitive answer on where magic came from. Some said it was a natural phenomenon that existed with or without human interaction; others said it was based on human faith and beliefs, in both deities and nature. A few thought that magic wasn't natural to our world, but leaked into it from somewhere else.

Whatever the case may be, when I activated any of the spells for the spear, the magic inherent to the world fueled them. Which was necessary, since I didn't have much in the way of magical talent. If people like the Wizard were multiple-degree black belts in magic, I was struggling to get my yellow belt.

Still, the spells require a will to power them, and mine played a role. My body, and nonexistent talent, acted as a conduit for the magic. The spells in the staff were basically summoning power _through_ me, not from me.

While that was great, it always left me feeling whipped. Activating the different forms of the spear didn't take much, but spells like the one that super-heated the spearhead in an instant were more than enough to exhaust me.

"Woody," someone called, waking me from an unexpected slumber. I sat up with a start, and found my mother waiting. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah," I said, looking around. "Let me grab my bag."

Mom hesitated, but then nodded. I went and retrieved my sports bag, where I'd hastily hidden the compressed rod when the neighbors had arrived. It'd been difficult to gather the bola balls, knife, and bracelet beads before the cops had arrived, but thankfully everything was stored away before questions were asked.

After I'd retrieved it, we climbed into her police vehicle, and left as the investigators finished up their perusal of the crime scene.

"So," my mother said as she drove. "Magic is real."

"Yes," I said.

That kept her quiet for a minute.

"That thing…" she said, her voice breaking off. After a second, she shook herself and gripped the steering wheel tighter. "What was that thing?"

"No idea," I told her truthfully. "I've never seen anything like it." I hesitated. "Well, not in real life."

"You've heard about it then?" she asked, taking on the tone of a cop questioning a source.

"It kind of looked like that character from that animated movie," I said lightly. I shot her a glance, and saw her shiver.

"Great, now I'll never be able to watch that ever again," she said with a slight shake of her head.

"Anyway, it was some sort of demon or creature of the Never-never," I explained. "Perhaps tied to faeries, although I can't be sure. It didn't seem to like the touch of iron, but there are a lot of things that don't like iron."

"Faeries are real?" mom asked, a startled tone to her voice.

"As near as I can tell, almost everything is real," I told her gently. "But there's just as much good as there is bad. Not everything out there is like that Wazowski. Take Sal, for example."

At his name, Sal stuck his head out from my breast pocket, and gave a warm trill. Mom spared him a glance.

"He's always been…" she asked.

"He's a salamander," I explained. "A fire elemental. And he's a good guy."

To me, it felt like the most important part of introducing someone to the supernatural world was making sure that it wasn't all teeth and claws trying to tear you apart. Sure, a lot of it was. And you needed to be prepared for it. There was danger out there, and it seemed like once you became aware of it, it almost seemed to seek you out.

But if you spend your entire life looking in shadows for the thing lurking there, you'll go mad. Especially if you think that everything lurking might be looking to harm you.

"I first met Sal after the Sells fire," I reminded her. She nodded, recalling when I brought him home. "We were both watching those fires, and kind of bonded over our mutual appreciation."

She shot me a disapproving glance. "Don't let your father hear that, or he'll never let Sal in the house again."

"Noted," I said with a nod.

"So, is this what you do now?" she asked. "You fight monsters with magic in Chicago?"

My bark of laughter startled her, and I tried to rein in my amusement. "No. Heavens, no."

"Then what?" she asked, shooting a glance at the bag on the floorboard between my feet. "What was that weapon? _Weapons_ ," she corrected, as she recalled the other things I'd used.

"You remember Q?" I asked, rather than answering directly.

"Of course," she said. "Your roommate."

She and dad had been up a few times since I'd bought the firehouse, and had met Q. He'd used his glamour to pass himself off as human, and the two hadn't suspected anything.

Well, dad had grumbled about people thinking I was gay. He knew I wasn't, but he seemed to have a hang-up on the subject. I'd hesitate to call him an outright homophobe, but I guess it depends on your definition.

When Q had heard him whispering his concerns to me from across the room, the goblin had taken a perverse pleasure in acting as if he were slowly trying to seduce me. My dad had almost had a stroke, and urged me to kick the guy out.

"Q isn't human," I informed mom, causing her to cast a startled glance at me.

"What is he?" she asked. "A vampire? A werewolf?"

"No," I said with a roll of my eyes. "I don't know any vampires, and I've only met a couple werewolves once or twice."

"Oh."

"He's a goblin," I told her, bracing for her reaction.

"Like the movie?" she asked, confused.

"What movie?" I asked.

"The ones where that little thing can't eat after midnight?"

"No, that's _Gremlins_ ," I said. "He's a goblin."

She hesitated. "Like David Bowie? In Labyrinth? Is he the Goblin King?"

"What? No," I said, shaking my head. "Just a goblin. And not like those goblins."

"Okay," mom said, clearly not understanding.

"Look, you watched the _Lord of the Rings_ movies, right?" I reminded her. I knew she had, since they'd been one my all-time favorites a few years back. She nodded. "You remember the smaller, skinnier Orcs?"

"Sure."

"He's a little bit like that, only not quite as ugly, and a whole lot deadlier," I said. Iwas used to Q's insistence that those movies were considered so offensive to goblins that it had taken an Accords meeting to settle things. Otherwise the entire cast and crew would have been fair game for retribution.

But I forgot who I was talking to, and belatedly realized that it probably wasn't a good idea telling my mom that my roommate was a deadly supernatural creature.

"He's fine," I quickly assured her. "He's a bit different from most goblins. They're all like ninja assassins, but he's more into arts and crafts. He helped me get some weapons in case I ran into some of the bad things."

"Right," she said, sounding like she'd heard enough.

"The point is, not everything out there is bad," I told her. "And not everything that's deadly is bad."

My mother considered that for a moment, before suddenly perking up. "Wait, are there sparkling vampires?"

She sounded a little too hopeful. "No."

"Oh," she said, sounding a little too disappointed.

"There are succubi and incubi, and vampires that do that kind of stuff too," I told her. "And they're supposedly gorgeous. But they'll definitely kill you."

Before she could start asking me if every creature she'd ever heard about was real, I got us back on track. "Anyway, I've never seen anything like that Wazowski. But I'll call Q in a little bit and see if he knows anything."

"Could that be the thing that's killing these kids?" mom asked, focusing on the important things.

"I doubt it," I told her. "It's possible, but it didn't look like that thing would leave its victims with damaged lungs. It probably wouldn't leave them with lungs at all."

"So there's something else?" she asked, worrying her lip.

"Probably," I agreed. "But they're probably related."

When we rounded a corner, I saw flashing lights up ahead. There were several vehicles parked in front of an apartment building.

"How so?" she asked as she parked.

"Well, it seems like too much of a coincidence that there would be two supernatural killers in Lake Providence," I admitted. "I still don't have any ideas on what's killing the kids. But it seemed to me like the Wazowski was gunning for you."

"What?" mom said, startled. She parked, but left the engine and heat on while she turned to me. "Why would it want me? I assumed it was something after you."

I shook my head. "It was gunning for you, mom. I got in its way several times, but it kept going back to you."

"Why would it want me?" she repeated.

"The only thing I can think of is this case," I said softly. "Maybe it's not a creature killing these kids. Maybe it's a person. And if so, maybe they're worried about the investigation."

"But we haven't made any headway," she protested. I saw her frowning, trying to think about who might have sent the monster after her.

"Is there anyone particularly upset with you?" I asked. "Maybe that couple I saw earlier?"

Mom rolled her eyes. "Please. The Connors would be the _last_ people to get involved in any magic or witchcraft. They're just assholes." My mom blushed at her unexpected outburst, but continued on. "They're not the only ones upset with me right now. A lot of people are in an uproar about these deaths."

"But how many have you accused, or questioned?" I asked. "The people upset with the murders, and the families of the victims looking for justice, wouldn't be looking to kill you with magic."

I didn't add that it could be two different situations; one person using magic to kill, and another using it for revenge. It didn't seem likely. Occam's razor told me that two practitioners in this town seemed unlikely. The same thing told me that my mother wasn't randomly attacked by a demon. It had to be tied together, which meant that someone had to think she was getting too close.

"Not many," mom answered. "The Connors were only questioned because of the third victim's boyfriend."

"Well, I'll do some digging tomorrow," I assured her. When she looked my way, I shrugged. "They're the obvious choice, even if it seems unlikely."

"Alright," she said, and turned the car off. "Don't think we're done with this talk though, buster."

"Wouldn't dream it," I told her, and we both climbed out of the car.

* * *

The fourth victim was a local girl that lived alone. She'd graduated from high school a year earlier, and stayed in town rather than going off to school.

When we entered her apartment building, I spotted who I assumed were her parents in the hallway speaking to a detective. Another peeled off and joined us as we entered the apartment, a second floor single bedroom unit. It was a small place, similar to one I'd stayed in not long after I'd been fired from the C.F.D.

"Captain," the detective said in greeting. He nodded at me. "Everything okay, mam?"

"Fine," my mother replied, her tone all business. Even if rumor was already spreading about the incident at her house, she wouldn't let it interfere with work. "What are we looking at?"

I looked around as the detective described what they'd found. "A call came in about what sounded like a struggle. When our people arrived, they found it like this. The deceased seems to have tried sealing off her apartment. When we breached, the front door had duct tape over all of the door cracks."

The same could be said for the windows and vents into the room. It was cold, and a glance at the thermostat confirmed that the girl had cut off her heat to prevent any airflow from dislodging the makeshift seals.

"The bedroom was similarly sealed," the detective informed us. "She'd also taped all the faucets and drains in the bathroom. The toilet has been wrapped up like a Christmas present."

"Why?" my mom asked, looking around the space. It was apparent that any opening into the apartment had been closed off.

"No idea, mam," the detective said, although he shot me a look.

I wondered if others had guessed at my presence. My father had made his disappointment in me, and my apparent ravings about magic and mystical beings, well known at the fire house. If it had trickled over to the precinct, and the statement from the third victim's boyfriend had gotten around…

"Is she still in there?" mom asked.

"Yes, mam."

My mother sighed, bracing herself, before nodding. "Let's take a look."

We headed into the bedroom, where we found investigators doing their job. One was dusting for prints, while another was looking for anything suspicious in the room. A third was beside the girl, who lay on her bed, her glassy eyes staring up at the ceiling. The lamp and clock had been knocked from her nightstand, and her body was twisted in the sheets.

The investigator beside the girl looked up, a sad look on her face. "Same as the others, mam."

My mother stopped to speak with her, while I wandered over to the window. It was sealed just like the ones in the main room had been. When I looked down at the window ledge, I saw a line of salt had been poured along the base.

"Someone's been watching too much television," the man looking over the room said, and nodded at the salt. Then I followed his direction, and saw where a circle of salt had been sprinkled around the air vent in the floor.

"Does that really work?" the investigator asked softly, glancing at the others to make sure they didn't hear.

"Hell if I know," I said with a shrug. There were powders and such that could keep ghosts at bay, and there was all sorts of lore on the internet about salt. But I hadn't seen salt alone stop anything yet.

The investigator walked away, clearly embarrassed. I took the opportunity to check on Sal. "You smell anything?" I asked.

His head popped out, and I watched as he sniffed at the air. His affirmative trill sounded, so I followed up with another question. "Same as the first house?" Another affirmative. "Can you see if you can find where they got in?"

The salamander nodded, but I motioned for him to hold off. Turning back, I glanced at my mother and caught her eye. When she came over, I told her I needed to let Sal have free run of the room.

"Okay," she said, turning back to the others. They all looked to her, and she gestured toward the bedroom door. "I'm going to need all of you to step out for a minute."

The investigators shared a glance, but did as their captain instructed. After a few moments, my mother closed the door, leaving us alone with the dead girl.

"Go on," I said, and Sal scrambled for the floor. We watched as he ran back and forth, looking around. He hesitated for a moment, before darting under a dresser. A couple seconds later, he came back out, and tried to get around behind it. When he realized there wasn't enough space, he turned to me and barked.

"Alright, alright," I said, and moved for the dresser. My mom stopped me, and motioned to my hands. "Oh, right. Back in, buddy."

Sal gave a disappointed growl, but clambered back into my pocket. Once he was out of sight, mom opened the door and summoned the investigators back in. "Walker. Renauld. Move that cabinet."

The two she'd named, with their sterile gloves that wouldn't contaminate any evidence, hurried to obey. With some soft grunting and wheezing, the dresser was moved away from the wall. When it was clear, mom and I leaned around it, and looked down.

"Hole in the dry wall," she said softly. The investigators looked at it, and then each other, before looking to me. Their eyes were a little too wide.

"Thanks," I told them, and headed back out into the main room.

To be honest, that was about the extent of my ability to remain in the room with the dead girl. I couldn't stand looking at her, wondering if I'd failed her. If I'd arrived in town earlier, or figured things out faster, I might have been able to help.

But I still didn't know who she was, or why she was targeted. I didn't even know how she was linked to the others. Clearly she'd figured something out, but there was no telling what it was. Not now.

"I'm going to wait in the car," I told mom. She handed over the keys, and then went to speak with the parents. I headed outside, where I lit up a smoke and tried to think about anything other than the dead girl's eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

It was a while before mom was done, but once the investigators had completed their work, she joined me outside, and we made our way home.

It had been a long day, and I was beat. My arm was hurting from the demon's attack, and the aspirin I'd taken just after had worn off. When we got back, I took some more, freshened up, and went to bed.

When I woke the next day, Sal was still perched in the living room, keeping an ear open for any threats that might have come as we slept. The little guy was exhausted, and I gave him some charred bacon and a cinnamon stick in appreciation for watching out.

Both of my parents had already left for the day. Mom left a note asking me to keep her informed about anything I found. She'd filled me in on the details of the latest victim as we drove home, and knew I was going to follow up on the third that day.

The fourth didn't seem to be any different than the others, save for her odd precautions. My guess was that she was worried about a smoke attack just like the third victim had suffered. That's why she'd sealed off the apartment.

But if Sal was right, then the demon, or whatever it was, found a way in. All of the girl's precautions hadn't done her any good.

I started the day by calling Q, to see if he had any ideas on what the Wazowski demon might be. But when he answered, he sounded grumpy, as if he'd just woken up. I described the one-eyed thing that had attacked us, and he had a prompt response.

"No clue," he said, his voice gruff and surly.

"What, really?" I asked, surprised.

"What am I, an encyclopedia of the weird?" Q growled. "I was up all night working for your mortals, and now you expect me to know every demon?"

"Well, there can't be that many like that."

"Right," he said sarcastically. "Because the world is that convenient."

"Okay, fine," I said, my own temper flaring and causing my words to be clipped. "Am I correct in assuming that I just banished its current form?"

"Correct," the goblin replied. "If someone did summon it, it could most likely form a new body when they try again."

"Any idea about the smoke thing?" I asked, hoping the call wasn't a complete waste of time.

"Could be a ghost. Seems most likely," he grumbled. "Targeting those kids for some reason. Maybe it's a fisherman they ran over."

"This isn't _I Know What You Did Last Summer_ ," I said to the goblin with a penchant for horror films. They were like romantic comedies for the supernatural. "And these kids don't seem to know each other. At least their parents don't seem to think they did."

"Well, if not a ghost, then an air demon or spirit, or an Ifrit, or a shape-shifter that can turn itself into smoke and back again. I think I read that Black Court vampires could do that."

"But these kids haven't been eaten or drained," I countered.

"That you know of," he replied. "Plenty of things eat spiritual energy. Could be that they're sucking them dry in a way you can't detect."

"Fuck," I sighed. "Why am I doing this? I'm not qualified for this."

"I told you that yesterday morning," the goblin said with a certain amount of smugness in his voice. "But you wanted to rush off and pretend to be the Wizard."

"Maybe I can call the White Council of Wizards," I said, thinking of my options. "They could probably send someone."

"They'd just send the Wizard," Q said. "It's in his territory."

I thought of the building with the sheered off wall, and the power it must have taken to accomplish that. "Something tells me he's busy."

"Well, then, either figure it out, or get gone," Q said unhelpfully. "All you mortals do is whine about your lot."

"Fine, I get it," I said, cutting him off before he got started on a rant. He'd grown less patient with mortals after one or two had made minor complaints about his commissioned works.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"At least the spear worked," I said with a sigh.

"Of course it did," he replied, arrogantly smug. "I designed it."

After that, he hung up.

I sighed, and looked at the flip phone. I wondered if there was anyone else I could call. Anyone that might be able to help.

The Wizard would be the obvious choice. But he was most likely busy, and I didn't have his number anyway. And if he were busy with that thing back in Chicago, Murphy likely was as well. Not to mention that it was Marcone's building that got hit, which meant Gard was probably waist deep in whatever was going on.

That left Q, who seemed stubbornly opposed to traveling out, and a handful of other acquaintances I'd made over the years. But none of them would be any better with it than I would be. Maybe Bailey would recognize the demon, but I'm not sure how that would really help.

No. The only other option I had was Violet. And I was hesitant to abuse her.

I'd first met Violet almost three years prior, when I'd worked a case for the Chicago Fire Prevention Bureau. Someone had been setting vacant buildings on fire in town, and I'd been tasked with discovering what was going on, figuring out a way to explain it that a rational mind would accept, and stopping it if I could.

I'd been successful on all three fronts, and doing so had put me into acquaintance with a Lampad. The Handmaiden of Hecate had been appreciative of my efforts at restoring her torch to her, and had offered me a favor in return. I'd cashed that favor the previous summer, which is how I ended up with one of the rings on my fingers.

What I hadn't really known at the time was just what I was agreeing to. I'd understood that she was powerful. She was also beautiful, and seemed to have taken an interest in me. That interest had only grown as the months had gone on, and our bond grew.

Q had joked — I think — that I had married the Lampad when I'd accepted the ring she'd given me. It was just supposed to keep me safe for a night, but it turned out to be a more lasting connection.

I hadn't thought anything of it until I'd gone out on a date. The evening had gone well, but I went home alone. There had been an opportunity to pursue things on future dates, and I'd been considering just that when the Lampad had appeared in my bedroom.

I don't know if she knew what I was thinking, or if she'd been monitoring my activities through the ring. Either was alarming. But whatever it was, she felt the urge to call on me that night, and did her best to push any thoughts of other women far, far away.

Since then, I'd seen her irregularly. She'd helped when we had been creating my spear, and seemed to make herself right at home whenever she wanted.

But I didn't understand our relationship. Not really. And I feared what it might mean for me if I ever took a misstep in this dance of ours. As near as I could tell, she was millennia old, and quite possibly the most powerful being I'd ever met. That, and she was theoretically a nymph in the service of Hecate, if the legends were true. I was too scared to ask.

I spun the bone-white ring on my right middle finger absently, wondering if I should call on her. But even if I did, she'd never appeared during the day. It wouldn't do me any good right then.

Sighing, I packed up my things and set out to see what else I could find. And hoped that I wasn't going to end up getting myself killed from ignorance, or someone else killed from being too powerless.

* * *

I left Sal at home, with instructions to rest up and watch over my parents in case they got home before I did. Then I went to the third victim's parents house.

They didn't have much to add, other than mentioning that their daughter had seemed stressed over the last few days. They'd chalked it up to the loss of two friends so suddenly. When I asked if their daughter had known the other two boys, they hadn't been sure. They mentioned that the night prior to the first death, she'd gone out with some friends. And after the first two deaths, she'd made a forlorn comment about having seen them in their last days.

That made me think about the others, and what I'd heard. The first boy's parents confirmed he'd been feeling ill the night he died, apparently from too much partying from the night before. The second boy had asked off from work the same night, pleading ill when he was otherwise fine.

Did the third girl attend a party with the other two? And if so, why hadn't my mother or the detectives put it together?

I texted her, and shared my thoughts. She replied back that they'd had similar thoughts, but hadn't found anyone that could confirm that they were together. The only person that could have done that was the boyfriend, who had stopped talking entirely once he realized the police weren't taking his comments seriously.

That made his place my next stop.

* * *

As I walked up the steps to Michael Phan's apartment, I wasn't terribly surprised to see duct tape on the inside of his living room window. I rang the doorbell, and waited until he showed up.

A head of unruly hair appeared in said window, peaking out to see who was calling.

"Who are you?" he asked, shouting through the glass. His eyes were wide and panicked, and his entire body was tense.

"Woody Hayes, investigator," I said, leaving off the 'arson' part. I held my credentials up to the window. "I was hoping to speak to you."

"Go away," he shouted, glancing around outside before beginning to step away.

"Please," I said as he started retreating from the window. "I need to speak with you about what you saw, and what you know about the victims."

"You wouldn't believe me anyway," he said as he returned to the window. "None of you did."

I cursed myself for leaving Sal at home, and tried thinking of what I could do to convince him that I was more than willing to believe in magic. As I did, I looked to my hands, and the rings I wore.

The bone-white ring I'd received from Violet, which kept me safe from fire and flames, wouldn't do anything unless I was actually on fire. Trying to do that would probably freak the kid out, so I focused my attention on the other two rings I wore.

I'd previously had a ring that's sole purpose was lighting cigarettes. But as we discussed different options for the spear we were crafting for me, Q and I had come up with some creative ideas. One of them involved wearing a ring on each hand.

With free space slowly running out, we'd made two identical rings, and I wore one on each ring finger. Both had several spells worked into them, including the spell to light a cigarette. That wasn't terribly useful if he couldn't see what I was doing, but there _was_ a spell that he could easily see.

I held my right hand up to the glass and sub-vocalized the command word. Q had warned me about shouting things too loudly, where others might hear and be able to duplicate them. There was power in names, and power in commands when working with enchanted objects.

" _Cala-forma_ ," I whispered, soft enough that he wouldn't hear. And at the command, the steel ring on my right hand began to glow with a bright silver white light.

The kid's eyes went wide as he stared at it, and I rapped it against the glass. His eyes swiveled back to mine, and I nodded.

"Let me in and we'll talk."

* * *

The kid didn't let me in. After what he'd seen, he'd done some searches on the internet, and learned enough about monsters and thresholds to know you shouldn't just go around inviting strangers in.

Especially if you've just watched them perform magic.

Instead, he came out front, and we sat down in some chairs he had under his front window. It allowed me an opportunity to smoke, as well as show off for him by lighting a cigarette with the ring. I let him light a cigarette as well, and then we got to business.

"Tell me what you saw."

The kid fidgeted, smoking the cigarette too fast. I'd done the same once or twice when fretting about the things I'd seen, and knew he'd eventually come around. Either that, or he'd break, and then nothing I could say would do any good.

"We were out at the lake," he finally said, his voice shaking. "Melanie wanted to go somewhere private."

"How long had you been dating?" I asked.

The kid glanced at me, blinking widely. "Oh, no. We weren't dating, man. It was just a hookup."

"Oh," I said, cursing the police for assuming they were together.

"We've been friends for years," Mike continued. "Kind of had a flirtatious thing going on, but we never did anything. But after the other two died… well, she said she wanted to live life to the fullest. Not miss a moment and all that."

"I see."

"I didn't realize at that point," the kid said, his eyes distant. "I just thought the others had died from other things. We hadn't heard how they'd died; just that Tony died in his sleep, and Pete died at work. I didn't realize it was because of the curse…"

The kid trailed off, his eyes catching on the smoke coming from his cigarette. He quickly stubbed it out, shaking as he did. I did the same, sensing that watching smoke curl around his head while discussing his friend's death might be too much for anyone.

"What curse?" I asked as I put the butt in the ashtray.

"The one we did that night," he explained. "At Sells Point."

"Tell me about it," I urged him. He hadn't gotten this far with his ravings to the police. He'd mentioned the name of the Connors, and then rambled about the killer smoke in the car.

"A bunch of us went out to Sells Point the other night," he said. "It's the little finger of land, out where the old Sells place used to be?"

"I know where it is," I assured him.

"Well, Gregg had asked a bunch of us to go out there with him," he explained. "It was just supposed to be a bonfire, you know? Have some drinks, party, maybe fool around? Which is what we did for a while.

"We started up a bonfire out where the house used to be, and got to partying." He started fidgeting, glancing around as he told the tale. "Anyway, after a while, Gregg starts telling us about this book he got."

"Gregg Connors?" I clarified.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "I don't really know him that well. None of us did. It was kind of a last minute thing, and we were an odd bunch. Like, everyone knew someone else, but not everyone, you know?"

"Sure."

"I mean, Melanie got the invite from Monica. So then she invited me, and I invited Bethany and Kevin."

"I get it," I said, nodding. "Townies hanging out on a winter night while everyone else is away at school. Making do."

"Yeah," he said softly.

"So tell me about the book," I said, trying to push him back on track.

"Well, he said he got this book," Mike explained. "Said it used to be old man Sells' book. They say he used to do dark magic and the like out at his lake house."

"I've heard a thing or two."

"Right. Well, he says he got this spellbook that can summon demons. And he asks us if we want to give it a try."

A lead weight started sinking into my gut as he spoke. "And so you guys tried to summon a demon."

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "We were all pretty drunk at that point, and thought it'd be cool. You know, _magic_. But we didn't really believe. We were just going along with it.

"Anyway, the book said we needed to form a ring around the fire, to entrap the demon, so that we could enforce our will on it or whatever. So we got in a ring, and held hands, and Gregg read off the spell."

"What happened then?" I asked, a sense of dread overcoming me.

"Nothing," he said. But his eyes shifted.

"Mike, tell me," I insisted.

He looked back to me, and hesitated. "Look, we didn't know magic was _real_. We'd heard the rumors and all, but we didn't _know_."

"I know," I told him. "No-one's going to think you did anything wrong."

"Well," he said after another moment. "He completed the spell, and just as he did, the bonfire explodes. Like, the flames just roar up, and the place fills with this dark pungent smoke. So we all fall back, and Gregg starts yelling to keep the ring in place around the smoke. But we're all choking, so we all just fall back."

He looked at the cigarette butts in the ash tray, his mind miles away. "We didn't know what we were doing. But the fire was hot and the smoke was thick, so we broke hands. And we let it out."

"No," I told him, slowly shaking my head as he had begun to shake. My comment stilled him, and he looked to me, surprised. "It wasn't your fault. Really."

"But Gregg said we needed to hold—"

"Gregg didn't know what he was talking about," I assured the kid. "He probably misunderstood. When dealing with things like that, you make an empowered circle around the thing. Not a ring of kids holding hands."

I didn't know much about summoning, but I'd heard a few things. Q had chewed me out when he found out that I'd summoned Violet that first time without using a circle. As a consequence, she probably could have done just about anything to me. The summons would have constituted an invitation, and that would have left her free to use her powers against me within my feeble threshold.

I'd assumed that she'd be held under Guest Law, which prevented some supernatural creatures from harming people in their homes. Q said it might have affected her, but it wouldn't affect everything.

My ignorance had spurred Q into training me on the basics of circles. So I wasn't all that different from Gregg, save for the fact that my mistake had been harmless, and his had gotten four people killed so far.

"So we didn't cause this?" the kid asked hopefully.

"It sounds like Gregg summoned something. But the rest of you just happened to be there."

"Then why is it coming after us?" he asked, his voice on the edge of panic. "After I saw what happened to Melanie, I called some of the others, and told them."

"What _did_ you see?" I asked. The police had at least taken notes on his ravings. Whether that was from due diligence or them keeping an eye on him in case he was a suspect, I wasn't sure.

"We were just parked at the beach, getting pretty heavy," he said, a flush coming to his cheeks. I blamed the winter air. "It was dark. The lights were off, but we left the engine on for heat and music.

"All of a sudden, this smoke just starts filling the car. Like it was billowing in from the vents. I thought something was wrong with her engine, and tried to scramble to turn off the ignition. But when I sat back, I saw the smoke was…"

Mike trailed off, his eyes distant again. I gave him a moment, and then softly called his name. When he heard it, he shook himself, and rubbed his arms.

"It was swirling around her, man," he said, his voice a whisper. "And she was choking. I tried waving it away. I tried helping her, but then the smoke swirled at me, and I thought… I thought…"

"You thought what, Mike?" I asked when he'd gone silent for a minute.

His eyes rose to mine, and I saw how haunted they were. I saw guilt, and shame. But mostly what I saw fear. Fear of a formless, shapeless enemy that had killed his friend in front of his very eyes, and seemed to have done the same to others before and since.

When he looked at me, it was with the eyes of the not-yet mad. But he was on his way. And his next words wouldn't help him any if anyone else heard them.

"I saw a face," he said, his voice soft. "A hideous face in the smoke, screaming at me in silence."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Not long after that, I was in my grandmother's SUV and was making my way toward the Connors house.

"A spell?" my mother asked over the phone.

"Yeah," I said. "Apparently he got his hands on a book that Victor Sells had back in the day."

"That seems unlikely," she said, her tone growing doubtful. "Almost everything in that house was burned to a crisp. Your father had a hell of a time putting that fire out."

"Well, something survived," I told her. "I'll worry about that later. For now, we need to get that book from Gregg, and protect the others."

"What others?" she asked.

"Greg Connors, Mike Phan, the four victims, and six others were all present at the summoning," I explained. "Based on what Mike said, it seems like whatever they summoned is knocking the kids off one by one. It's going in the order they were in the ring around the fire."

"So who's next?" mom asked.

"Bethany Franklin. But we need to get her and the others in to get their statements. And if we can, keep them overnight."

"I don't see how we can do that, Woody," mom said, growing doubtful. "Unless we're going to accuse them—"

"I don't think that'll be necessary," I said, cutting her off. "Mike and the others have all talked. His place was duct taped up just like the girl's place from last night. They've all discussed what might have come from the bonfire, and they're worried. If we tell them that we can protect them, they'll agree to stay."

"Why didn't they come to us to begin with?" mom growled.

"Because what were the police going to do?" I asked her. "Mike told you guys what he saw, and you're the only one that took him seriously."

"Alright," my mother said, her tone indicating she was going to let that go for the moment. "Give me the names."

I read off the list of the others, in the order in which they'd been in the circle. Once she had them, mom said she'd have officers reach out to them. "But we can't make them stay," she reiterated.

"Let's try, and worry about those that refuse if and when they refuse." I turned a corner, and saw my intended target. "I'm at the Connors house. I'm going to go—"

"NO," mom said, leaving no room for argument. "I'll meet you there. Do _not_ approach that house without me."

"But—"

"No buts, mister," she said, and I heard her pull the phone away as she spoke to someone else about the list. "I'll be there in five minutes. You can damn well wait."

There was no point arguing with my mother when she was in a cursing mood. I agreed, and snapped the flip phone shut, staring up at the Connors house across the street.

* * *

Ten minutes later, my mom's car pulled up with another in tow. As they parked in front of the Connors household, I saw mom and three officers all step out. The officers waited while mom made her way across the street toward me.

I put aside the net bracelet I'd been re-threading, and headed out to meet her. If my sports bag looked odd for someone preparing to interview a suspect, so be it. I wasn't going anywhere near a demon summoner without the spear.

"This is a polite inquiry," mom said. "We can't do anything more until we've gotten the statements from the others. Then the Connors won't be able to do stop us when we want to bring Gregg in for questioning."

"I'll be on my best behavior," I assured her. "Even if I want to cold cock the kid."

"Hey," she said, stopping me before we got to the others. "You said he didn't know what he was doing. He's a victim in this too."

"Maybe at first," I told her. "But you're forgetting that demon that came after you. The one that targeted you hours after you had your meeting with his family."

That gave my mother pause. "Are we sure he sent that after me?"

"Is there anything missing from your office today?" I asked. "He might have just used your name, but having something of yours would have helped."

My mother started. "That rose in a glass half sphere you gave me. The one after… it wasn't there. I thought the cleaning crew must have done something with it."

My temper flared. Not just because it was confirmation that the kid had sent the demon after my mom. But he'd done it with something very personal. Something I'd given her to help her through a very hard time.

"That little fucker," I said, and my mother had to put a restraining hand on my chest.

"Woody, stop," she said, sounding more like a mother than a Chief of Police. "We need to do this the right way."

"Okay," I said, taking a breath. "I'll keep cool."

My mother studied me for a moment, before nodding. "Alright. Let's go."

* * *

The five of us went up in force to the Connors door, ready for a confrontation.

Mrs. Connors let us in to their front room, but that was as far as we got, in any way, shape, or form.

Dr. Connors arrived a short time later, having been called when Mrs. Connors saw the cop cars pull up. He arrived ready for a fight, and tore into my mother and the police. Even with all of its teeth, claws, and spikes, I don't think the Wazowski demon could have done any better.

It was clear from their conversation that they wouldn't be cooperating. Even when the kid came downstairs, Dr. Connors wouldn't let us speak to him.

There was a cocky look to the kid, although he'd frowned when he first saw mom. My anger spiked, as I realized he was surprised she was still alive. That look had quickly faded, though, and he'd seemed almost taunting as he'd offered to speak to the cops.

As mad as I was with the kid, I didn't appreciate it when Dr. Connors turned on him and smacked him. Mostly because I didn't want to feel any sympathy for the shit. But there was a part of me that knew what that was like, and for a moment I wasn't sure which of them I hated more.

The kid shot a dark look at his father, and then retreated upstairs. That left the rest of us with the pleasure of his father's company.

"Sanford is on his way," Mrs. Connors said as she re-entered the room. She'd left at her husband's command to call the family lawyer.

"Excellent," the man said, turning back to my mother. "We'll see just how long you remain Chief of Police. You've always been a sorry excuse for a cop. You couldn't even find your own—"

His next word was cut off when my right cross connected with his jaw.

"Out!" my mother shouted, shoving me back. One of her officers grabbed me and started hauling me to the front door as Mrs. Connors wailed and dropped down to check on her husband. He must have had a glass jaw, because he was out cold.

As the cop shoved me out the door, albeit as gently as he could, I cast one last look back into the house. There, sitting halfway up the stairs, was Gregg Connors. His head was turned to listen to his mother's concerned mutterings over his father. The kid's face was twisted with undisguised glee, letting a little of the darkness peek through.

And I realized that that indifferent look I'd seen on his face in the precinct the day before wasn't disinterest. He wasn't bored listening to his parents yell. He'd simply written the entire affair off in his head. He'd lifted that trinket from my mom's desk, and had already thought about how he would kill her for questioning him. He knew what he was going to do even then. It had only been boring because all that arguing was simply a waste of breath.

As I realized that, the kid turned to me. His smile faded, leaving just the darkness lurking in his eyes. How everyone had missed it, I couldn't know. I'm sure if the cop pushing me out had turned and looked, he would have seen it to.

But he didn't, and so I was the only one to know that Gregg Connors would most likely have to be put down.

* * *

"What were you _thinking?!_ " my mother shouted at me once she joined me outside.

A good hour had passed, with the lawyer's arrival immediately preceding that of an ambulance.

"I'm sorry," I told her truthfully.

" _Sorry?!_ " she said, her face flushed from her anger and the cold. The storm front that had been lingering over Chicago for the last few days had finally started drifting east, and the clouds overhead were darkening.

"Sorry isn't going to keep you out of jail on assault charges," she said, which caught my attention. "You knocked him out cold. By all rights, you should be in the back of that squad car, and spending the night in lock-up."

"But?" I said.

"I just had to strike a deal with that piece of shit," she whispered harshly, not even noticing her choice of language. "It's only because we had the other officers present, and they and his wife all admitted to hearing his taunt, that we narrowly avoided his lawyer drawing up paperwork right then and there."

"I wasn't going to let him sit there and say that," I said, lighting another cigarette.

"You think I haven't heard it before?" she asked, her voice low but filled with emotion. "You think I haven't heard that every year for the last fifteen years? Every time anyone criticizes the department, they dredge it up, as if that were the only thing in the history of the town."

I remained silent, feeling embarrassed that I'd let my temper get the better of me. I was normally pretty laid back, but the stresses of being home, dealing with someone trying to murder my mom, and the deaths of the kids were enough to leave me raw. Add to that an asshole bringing up that…

"I'm sorry," I repeated.

"Well, you will be," she snapped. "All I've gotten them to agree to is to not press charges until after the investigation is over. I convinced them you're providing valuable information for us, and locking you up for assault would only bog down the investigation. And since they're convinced their son is innocent, they don't want this dragging out any longer than it has to."

"Great," I muttered, taking a drag from the cigarette.

"Now that our chances of getting a court order to search the house are exactly zero, what are we going to do?" she asked, her tone softening without losing its edge.

"We bring the kids in," I said. "We do what we can to protect them. And we see if we can keep someone with Gregg at all times."

"What do you mean?" she asked, bewildered. "We have no chance of keeping eyes on the place. If they see as much as squad car out front, their lawyer will be all over us in a heartbeat."

"It doesn't have to be us," I told her. "Just tell them the truth. That everyone that's died so far was at the party. All but one died alone. Tell them that if their son is innocent, then they at least need to keep him in sight, for his own safety."

"And what good will that do?"

"It'll keep him from summoning anything else," I said. "I don't think he has control of the smoke demon. From what Mike said, they screwed up the part of the ritual that would have allowed him to apply his will on it. But he most certainly had the other one doing his bidding. If he's left alone, he might send another after you."

"Fine," she said, finally sounding civil. "I'll have a detective head in and play good cop. Maybe we can convince them to do our job for us. And after all this is over, we'll see if I still have a job to do."

With that depressing thought, she headed across the street, leaving me to my guilt.

* * *

Having been warned to stay away from the Connors, and let the police gather up the other kids, I quickly realized I had nothing to do.

I told mom that I'd need to create a circle or something to help keep the kids safe, but she told me she'd call me when she was ready for that. I told her I'd need to find the summoning book, but I was under specific orders to stay a hundred yards from the Connors house. If I went anywhere near them, mom was going to throw me in jail herself.

That's how I found myself parking at the end of the old Sells driveway.

The place had been vacant ever since that night years earlier, when the man's drug business had gone up in smoke. Most people just knew what the papers had reported; that Victor Sells had somehow gotten tied up in the creation of a new designer drug that was making the rounds in Chicago. He and his partners had been brewing up another batch when a bunsen burner had fallen over and started a fire.

Any witnesses that reported supernatural flames, or faces and things in the smoke rising from the conflagration, had been told to check themselves in to the hospital. The stash had gone up with the house, and hallucinations were to be expected by anyone in the area.

The only reason I hadn't believe that story myself was because I'd met Sal that night, and suddenly, believing in magic didn't seem quite so strange.

I'd heard rumors later on that the drug had magical properties. That it opened one's Third Eye, allowing them to see the world as wizards did. That's what they said in Chicago, at any rate. That, and the assumption that the Wizard had resolved matters.

As I walked out to the small finger of land that had previously sported their two story lake house, my thoughts drifted back to that evening. To the wildfires that had raged from the structure, which had illuminated the two figures fleeing the flames.

It was my first time seeing the Wizard, although I hadn't known who he was at the time. All I'd known was that a man had gone running into the house after appearing at the tree line. Moments later, he'd carried the second out as the place went up. Then the two had fled, leaving me alone with the raging inferno.

My father hadn't been pleased to learn I was there. The initial assumption was that the local pyromaniac had gotten out of hand again. They'd been on the verge of arresting me, despite my family connections, when they found the two naked people running down the road.

Only their testimony, and the investigators' findings in the remnants of the house, prevented me from being charged. But it was the last straw for my father, who never quite believed my story I told him about the two fleeing men. Instead, he suspected that I'd set the place on fire, thinking it vacant. He thought I was an arsonist that had accidentally killed someone.

Our relationship hadn't been the same since.

I stood there, looking at the finger of land that had all but ended my childhood, and began my life in the supernatural world.

There wasn't anything left of the house. Only the paved driveway remained, and most of that had been reclaimed by nature. Cracks spread throughout the concrete, with grass and weeds sprouting in between. The rest was bushes and overgrown shrubbery jutting up from beneath the snow.

I found the kids bonfire pit right where the house had been located. They'd cleared the space of any snow, and it seemed to still be dry despite a couple flurries since that night. It wasn't a huge pit, like I and some of the other kids had made along the shores of the lake when I was younger. I'd spent plenty of winter nights curled up under a blanket with one girl or another, drinking and laughing with friends. The lake had seen a lot of my firsts. That it was eternally linked with my knowledge of magic seemed fitting.

But there, in the remnants of the old house, I didn't feel a fondness for magic. I didn't feel the warm embrace of my memories.

All I felt was the wind and the cold.

It was enough to set my teeth chattering, and I headed back for the car. I don't know why I'd been drawn there. There were things to do; monsters to prepare for, in case we failed to account for Gregg Connors. And there were kids to protect; kids that found themselves at the mercy of a creature of their own making, even if they were innocent of intent. I headed for the vehicle, my thoughts on what I could do to improve our odds.

Maybe if I'd had Sal with me to sniff the air, or if I'd given any more thought as to why the ground around the fire pit was dry when nothing else was, things would have gone differently.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

My next stop was my parents house. Having survived an encounter with one of Gregg's summonings by sheer luck, I knew I'd need everything at my disposal to ensure I survived another.

When I walked in, I found my grandmother sitting on their couch, with Sal curled up in her lap. She was stroking him under the chin, and the room was filled with contented trills.

"Nana," I said, nodding to her. "What brings you over?"

"Your mother called," the older woman explained, a gentle smile increasing the lines on her face, but somehow making her look younger. "She said you had a rough morning, and she'd been harsh on you."

"Nothing I didn't deserve," I assured her. I glanced at Sal, who was acting entirely too casual in front of the woman who knew nothing about magical creatures. But at least he was his usual size. If he'd ballooned up to his larger size like he did any time Olivia came calling, I'd have walked in to a much different tableau.

"Still, she felt bad," Nana said. She cast a subtle glance at the third bedroom door, visible from the living room. "She said someone brought up a touchy subject."

"It's nothing," I quickly assured her. "Really, I'm fine."

"Well, I'm always here if you want to talk," she said.

"No, really," I insisted. "I just need to get ready for tonight." When she quirked an eyebrow up, I explained. "We're going to see if we can catch whoever's doing all of this."

She paused in her ministrations to Sal, who chirped plaintively. "Be careful, dear."

"I will," I told her. Then I made my way back to my room, where I got things ready.

The first thing I did was finish re-stringing the net beads, the elastic red string binding them together. When I tied it off, I completed the little spell that Q had taught me, and slid the bracelet over my left wrist.

After that, I freshened up, washing some of the cold and the damp away. Then it was a matter of getting dressed for battle.

First was my leather jeans. I rarely wore them, since I didn't really like the feel. They were black, just like jacket, and were also made from Balaur hide. Thankfully they weren't skin tight, but they were snugger than I preferred.

I put on my Balaur leather boots, which I'd been wearing all day. The weather had been worked by Gard's people, just like the other items. The soles had been reworked, though, by a family of Cobbs that Bailey knew. They were a little race of Faeries that tended to mend shoes. They had a place they worked at up at a mall in Chicago, and had been more than happy to help make the boots.

With them on, I made sure my Balaur leather gloves were in my jacket pocket, and then put my motorcycle half-helmet in my sports bag. It had a face mask that covered the lower part of my nose, along with my cheeks and mouth. Neither had any Balaur leather, but had extensive spells worked into them by Q that would make them more durable than anything on the market.

The only thing left was making sure all my assorted weapons, including my Beretta, were ready to go.

When I came out of my room with my bag over my shoulder, my grandmother took one look at me and gave a low whistle.

"You look like you're ready for a rough night," she said, her eyes drifting over the dragon skin clothes.

I glanced down at myself, but didn't see anything other than a questionable fashion sense. "What makes you say that?"

Rather than replying, my grandmother stroked Sal's chin, who I was pretty sure was swearing fealty to the woman with his trills. "All that leather," she said. After a moment, she arched an eyebrow and gave a slight smile. "Is there a club in town I'm unaware of?"

"No," I told her as the front door opened, admitting my mother.

Mom looked me over, a questioning look on her face. When she saw the jacket tucked under my arm, recognition dawned. "Oh," she said, recalling the jacket's durability from the fight the night before.

"Did you get everyone?" I asked. She nodded, and put her things down.

"They're all at the station," she informed me. "A couple of the boys are getting everything arranged now. We'll head over a little later so you can do your thing. Whatever it is," she added, since I hadn't gotten to specific.

"What's all this?" my grandmother asked.

"Nothing, Nana," mom said with a reassuring tone. "Just some police business."

My grandmother frowned at that, but nodded. "Very well."

Just then the front door opened, and my father charged in.

"What in Sam Hell are your boys doing over at the precinct?" he asked my mother. He muttered a greeting to his own mom, but kept his eyes on mine. "There are all sorts of rumors about magic and monsters and the like."

"I'll explain, Sam," mom said, but dad shrugged off the comment.

"No, this is ridiculous," he snapped. He turned to me and pointed a finger. "Now you've got her all turned around with this talk of magic."

"Dad, it's hard to exp—"

"Stop. Just stop," he said, growing more upset. "I've heard enough about of this. You need to let these fantasies go. I put up with them when you were younger, but you're an adult now."

"That's right, I am," I said, growing frustrated. "So why don't you start treating me like one?"

"Because you're so responsible all of a sudden?" he shot back. "I heard about what happened at the Connors' house. It's that type of hot-headed behavior that gets you into trouble. And all this magic crap doesn't help."

"Samuel," my grandmother said softly.

" _No!_ " dad shouted, turning on her. His face was livid, and he pointed at her. "This is all your fault, you know. You and those damn stories you used to tell them. About all those faeries and monsters and crap."

"They're not stories—" she began, but my father wasn't having any of it.

"Don't you get it?!" he screamed. I'd never heard him so furious. "This is all because of that. Because you filled their heads with these fantasies. If you hadn't, she'd—" he said, before cutting himself off. "She'd still be…"

He trailed off, too overcome to say it. But we all knew what he was going to say.

The room was silent, with all of us thinking the same thing, but none of us brave enough to speak of it. We averted our eyes from each other, and the bedroom door looming large behind us.

"Enough," he finally muttered, his frustration spent. "Enough dragons and princesses. No more heroes fighting demons, or magical weapons, or woven cloaks of silver and gold. Enough."

He turned back to my mother. "You need to stop this. Everyone is talking. They're already saying you're losing it. If you keep up, it's going to cost you your job."

"My job?" my mother asked, her tone surprisingly bitter. "You think I'm worried about my _job_ right now? Sam, there are things out there right now that you have no idea about. Things that don't care if you believe in them or not. I'm not going to do nothing, and let innocent kids die, just because I was too stubborn and pig-headed to see what was happening."

My father stared at her for a long time. The he just shook his head in defeat. "Fine. Do what you want. This entire family has been insane for far too long."

And with that, he stormed out, slamming the door shut behind him.

* * *

An hour before dark, all of us were at the station. The last of the kids had arrived at the precinct hours earlier, and mom and I joined them later. They all gave their statements about the events of the bonfire party, and then agreed to remain in custody.

Per my request, they were moved to a conference room the police used for their meetings. Everything had been cleared from the floor, and cots, chairs, and a port-a-potty had been brought it. There was even a pair of outlets in the floor, so a mini-fridge had been set up with some basic supplies.

Some of the cops seemed amused by the odd preparations, while others were convinced we were off our rockers. But they respected my mother, and were in position when needed.

"What's this?" my mother asked as I handed her a plastic box.

"Nine millimeter rounds," I replied as she opened it. Inside the box were forty standard issue bullets. I pulled another box from my bag, which had about fifteen left. "The tips have been dipped in holy water. They might help." When she gave me a bewildered look, I shrugged. "There's a guy at a church in Chicago that's in the know. These may help, or they may do nothing."

It'd been a couple months since I'd dipped them, and I had no way of knowing if the water was still good, or if it would hurt a monster like the Wazowski or the smoke demon. But I'd rather my mother and the other cops have them and not need them over being completely ill-equipped against the enemy we might face.

"I'll have them load some extra magazines," she said, and took the rounds over to one of the five officers that had agreed to keep watch. I saw their odd exchange, but the officer left to find the empty magazines.

I already had one magazine loaded in my Beretta, and my spare was in the holster. I wished I had more, but I'd never thought I'd be supplying others. I tried to keep one full case of forty rounds on hand, but there had been months where I'd had considerably less. I was just glad I had enough for everyone to have at least one magazine.

In addition to the dipped bullets and their regular armament, each cop was also carrying a steel baton. They'd gathered other iron implements from where they could, and had placed them in the circle. Fire pokers, lengths of pipe, and some good old iron pans were spread out where the officers and kids could reach them should they need to.

When each cop had their magazine of holy rounds, we retrieved the kids, who were all looking pretty nervous.

"Woody," one of the called out, and I turned as Michael Phan rushed to my side. "Woody, I'm sorry."

"For what?" I asked, confused.

"He showed up out of the blue, before I left for the police station," Mike blubbered, his voice frantic and apologetic. "He'd figured out that I was the one that had talked to you."

"Who?" I asked. "Gregg?"

"Yeah," he replied, nodding. "He cornered me, and threatened to hurt me if I didn't tell him everything."

"That doesn't really matter now, Mike," I told him. "We'll deal with him once we can convince the judge to issue a warrant. Your testimonies—"

"No, you don't understand," Mile said urgently, cutting me off. "I told him _everything_. Including that we talked on the porch. And that you smoked."

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as a cold dread worked its way down my spine. "What are you saying?"

"When I told him, he took the ash tray," the kid said. "He sifted through it and found the butt from your cigarette. Said it was just what he needed."

"Crap," I said softly. When I saw the look on Mike's face, I tried to force myself to remain calm. "It's fine. We'll all be in the circle, so it won't matter."

"But—"

"Don't worry," I told him. "Go join the others."

He headed over, where the seven kids, five cops, and a slight hooded figure all stood in the area we'd marked off with a permanent marker. The circle enclosed everyone and everything, with nothing breaking the ring.

"You sure the sprinkler system is turned off?" I asked mom.

"Yes," she said with a defeated look. "Your father will have a conniption if he hears."

"Let's hope that's all there is to be upset about."

All of the doors to the conference room were locked from the inside. There were two that led into the station, and a third that led outside. The room was on the far end of the precinct, so the only others in any proximity were those in the holding cells, the cops with them, and the overnight watch. They were far enough way that I was hoping they'd be safe from anything that came. They'd been instructed to not interfere, and remain at their stations throughout the night.

Once everyone was in the circle, I drew the rod from my sports bag. Sliding the bag further in, I glanced at everyone. They were all looking at me, with the kids clearly on edge, wondering how they were going to be kept safe. The cops all had smiles, amused or mocking.

"I'm going to be closing a circle around us," I explained to them. "The thing after you all won't be able to cross over it. You won't see it, or feel it, but for the demon, it'll be like a wall between you and it." I ignored the mutterings from a couple of the cops. "Whatever happens, do not cross the circle. Don't throw anything, don't kick or pushing anything across. Don't fire across it. If you send anything across the circle, it'll bring down the wall."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Wizard," one of the cops muttered.

"I'm not a wizard," I said, right before I muttered the command for the spear to extend from the rod. The metal snapped out, the blade appearing from nowhere as the pommel shot down.

If I didn't have their attention before, I had it then.

"Like I said. No crossing the line," I repeated.

And then I turned, and lowered the pommel of the spear to the floor. The silver metal touched where the marker had been crudely drawn earlier, and I muttered another command.

" _Rigil-mendë_."

At the command, my will shot through the staff, and lit the pommel with a blinding red light. The spell flowed out, sending power along the circle on the floor. With it went a two-foot tall wall of crimson flame, swooshing out in both directions.

The others gasped and retreated to the center of the circle. Heads spun around to watch the wall of fire as it swirled around us. When the two walls reached the far side, they crashed together, before the entire thing started to burn low.

In just a few moments, the flame disappeared entirely. On the floor, marking the space where the marker had been, was a glowing circle of heat. As that cooled, the illumination faded, until there was nothing more than a burned circle enclosing us.

"You enjoyed that," my mother said softly as I joined her and the hooded figure next to her.

"I might have," I admitted, cracking a smile despite my nerves.

Ten minutes later, the sun set, and we began our vigil.

None of the attacks had occurred immediately at dusk, but they'd all trailed shortly after the sun had fallen. Everyone remained silent, the kids scared of that which they feared was hunting them, and the cops sobered by the blatant display of magic. If they'd doubted before, they were now at least questioning everything they knew.

It took longer for anything to happen than I thought. Two hours passed before a mist started curling from one of the vents in the ceiling.

One of the cops saw it first, and shouted a warning. The initial, visceral thought was that something was on fire. That's where smoke came from. But as we all turned to look at it, the smoke began weaving its way around the room. It was like a tendril of charcoal black air, wafting around the edges of the circle.

"Everyone remain calm," I reminded them. "It can't get to us in the circle. There are no vents overhead, and no way for it to get to us from below." The kids had grown paranoid about the floor socket, and decided to unplug the mini-fridge. They'd tipped it over upside down so that the steel top was flush against the socket openings, and then duct-taped the edges. I wasn't so sure duct tape would stop the monster, but if it made them rest a little easier, it was worth it.

Now, as the smoke demon poked and prodded against the invisible wall of my will, I was kind of glad that they had.

"Is that what killed the others?" one of the kids asked.

"I'd say so," I told them. When I spoke, the smoke snapped against the circle, causing several kids to shout. More smoke billowed out from the air vent, until the room outside the circle seemed completely filled with the dark smog.

Slowly, the smoke pressed itself against the circle, swirling and pushing against it. Everyone watched as the invisible wall I'd told them would keep the monster out was outlined. The smoke continued to encircle us, testing every inch of the wall. We all turned with it, unable to tear our eyes away.

After another couple of minutes, the smoke grew agitated. It began to swirl about faster, as gusts seemed to lash against the barrier. The air curled again and again, and I thought more than once that I saw a stretched outline of a face in the smoke.

"That's it," Mike confirmed. "That's the thing that got Melanie."

A couple of the others whimpered as the fog spun, whipping around with forceful winds as the monster grew frustrated.

And then it retreated, fading back from the circle.

"Is that it?" one kid asked, right before a fist of smoke crashed into the circle.

Even though the blow was intangible, I felt like I could feel it vibrate along the spear I held. Everyone jumped, and then we watched as it tried over and over again. But nothing it did could break through the barrier of will.

After another ten minutes of angry thrashing, the smoke settled, and began drifting around the room in lazy circles. The others began to relax, as they grew more confident that they were safe. A nervous laughter came from a couple of them as their fears began to ease.

The hooded figure next to my mom tilted their head, as if thinking, or perhaps listening. A second later, one of the lights in the ceiling popped and sparked, sending a corner into shadows.

"Relax," I cautioned the others as their fear returned.

"The lights!" one kid shouted. "They're not taped!"

The recessed lights in the ceiling consisted of metal backings that were almost entirely enclosed. But there were small holes in them, either to allow for heat to escape, or air to flow. The kids scrambled for the duct tape, while mom ordered the cops to make sure they didn't knock something out of the circle in their haste.

They made quick work of the two recessed lights within the circle, tearing the covers off and applying duct tape over any opening. They double- and triple-layered, their worries similarly increased after witnessing the blows against the wall.

As they worked, all of the other lights in the room went out, until the only illumination came from those overhead. The darkness beyond the circle shimmied and flowed with smoke, seeming more sinister in its shrouded activities.

"Looks like these lights are going to be okay," mom said, just before the lights clicked off.

Everyone screamed, and I heard people shuffling about in haste. "Don't move!" I shouted, and heard everyone grow still.

"The lights! It's in the overhead lights!" one of the kids screamed.

"No, it's not!" I said quickly, before someone did something stupid. "They didn't pop like the others."

"What happened then?" Mike called out, his voice a near panic.

"I think it found the light switch," mom said nervously.

At that, everyone grew quiet. "Maybe we should have duct taped that," one of the cops said, his own voice trying for forced mirth. A couple of the kids laughed.

"The lamps," I said. "We had a couple lanterns."

The cops each snapped on small personal lights they had on their vests, and a couple lanterns were turned on. Some of the kids pulled their smart-phones out and turned on their light apps, and turned them toward the darkness surrounding us.

The smoke still moved, as if stalking its prey. If it had been creepy before, it was downright terrifying in the dark.

The wall held. The demon circled. We cowered within, waiting for dawn.

I lost track of how much time passed. It had been over an hour at least. Other than the occasional assault against the wall, there was nothing to be seen. Everyone had grown weary from the constant vigil, and slowly people settled down. A few of the kids lay on the cots shoved together in the space, while the cops took turns resting in the chairs.

The silence was broken when an earth-shattering bang sounded from the exterior door.

"What was that?" someone shouted as the sound repeated. The door shook in its frame, and everyone trained their lights in that direction.

A screech sounded as another blow landed, and light appeared through a crack. The door itself had been hit hard enough to crack the fiberglass. A procession of quick bangs caused more cracks to appear, until the door's structural integrity was completely compromised.

With another powerful blow, the door splintered, and the pieces crashed to the floor. We jumped as we looked out through the thin smoke and light, spotting a figure silhouetted by the exterior light.

Twin pinpoints of blue light hovered high up in the hunched form. Someone gasped as it stepped forward, and we all got a good look at the monster.

It was humanoid, at least in the idea that it had a head, two arms, and two legs, and it stood upright. From there, it was anyone's guess. It looked somewhat like a toad or frog, with a round leathery face covered in warts. The body matched it, the dark green tone of filthy pond scum and pollution covering it head to toe. Its form was grotesque, with arms, chest, and legs thick with muscle.

The thing lumbered forward, the fiberglass door crunching beneath its mass. Everyone took a step back as it came closer. Its mouth opened, revealing short teeth unnatural to any toad or frog, which looked like they'd ground more than one set of bones between them.

A low rumble began as the thing stood there, staring at us with its cobalt eyes. Its body hunched somewhat, its muscles bunching, before it sprung into the air.

The kids screamed, and I heard chairs and beds skittering across the floor as the demon threw itself at the wall that protected us.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

I screamed along with everyone else as the thing crashed down against the barrier, its incredible might causing the spear in my hand and the floor beneath my feet to vibrate from the blow.

"HOLD!" I screamed, even as I heard people scrambling to get back. "DON'T BREAK THE BARRIER!"

Somehow, throughout all of the turmoil, the barrier held. Nothing was sent flying across the circle, and the demon raged as it bounded helplessly against the wall.

"Everyone back toward the center!" my mother shouted, her voice filled with fear but still maintaining its commanding tone. "Make sure there's nothing close to the edge!"

Everyone recovered from their momentary lapse in judgment, and lights hastily spun about, inspecting the area. My eyes lighted upon a metal folding chair that had skidded to a stop a mere inch from the circle. I carefully drew it back toward the center, and everyone else made sure nothing was close.

In the meantime, the new demon continued its assault on the barrier, even as the smoke around us curled and wavered, looking for an opening.

"What now?" Mike asked from beside me. "Can you do anything to kill those things?"

"No," I told him. "Not without the book that summoned them."

"But what about magic?" a girl asked. "Can't you sling lighting at them or something? Use a patronus to banish them?"

"No, and no," I said, groaning inwardly. "I don't know any magic. And even if I did, I'm cut off from magic in this circle. Anything else I could do would just break the barrier."

As we spoke, the toad demon ceased its assault on the barrier. I saw it draw back, and its throat vibrated awkwardly right before it sent a glob of spit at the circle.

The liquid sizzled and burned in mid-air as it ran down the surface of the invisible wall. I watched where it touched the floor, and the tile beneath it started bubbling as it dissolved. The thing spit more acid from its mouth, and I watched as more chewed away at the floor.

But the burned circle was untouched, and the barrier remained.

Another scream pierced the air from the other side, and I turned back as a girl in the circle pointed toward the door. When I looked, I saw another pair of glowing eyes, these an emerald green, slowly slink into the room.

"Shit," I whispered, as a thin and wasted feline form began pacing around the circle. It looked like a large cat that had starved itself down to the bones. Other than its impossibly thin form and its glowing green eyes, there was nothing unnatural about it save the two long tentacles that rose up from its shoulders.

"How many can he summon?" my mother whispered.

"I have no idea," I told her has we watched the latest arrival. The cat and the toad seemed to remain opposite from each other as they encircled the barrier, even as the smoke curled around both of them. "I guess it depends on how many are in that book of his."

"Can we really last until morning?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the toad demon as it passed. Its pace was slower than the cat, and the second quickly caught up with it.

As we watched, the toad lashed out at the shorter beast. The cat seemed to flicker as the toad struck it, but I didn't see where it was hit. The toad raged and roared, and then shook as the one of the cat's tentacles lashed out. The tentacle fell short of the other demon, but it still screamed in pain, and I saw it whip around, a fresh wound marking where it'd been struck.

"What the…" I said, staring in confusion. The cat hadn't been close enough to strike the thing. But it was hurt all the same. The two had another exchange, and once again the toad was injured from an invisible blow.

The thing that struck me as I watched the exchange was the action and reaction. The toad demon was definitely responding to the attacks from the cat demon, even though it was out of reach. It was as if the cat were closer to the toad than it appeared.

I looked toward the hooded figure beside me, who was tracking the cat. But rather than staring at the beast itself, they were staring about five feet over to the side. I slowly reached up and unzipped my coat pocket, and withdrew my old glasses. Sal trilled from the outer pocket as he watched me don them, and I activated the spell that would reveal the unseen world to me.

" _Pantië_ ," I whispered. And as I touched the frame, the lenses sparked, letting me see with what the wizards called the Sight. It wasn't as powerful as theirs, but it would reveal illusions and glamors, without burning what I saw into my permanent memory.

As the spell activated, the cat I'd seen before seemed to waver, becoming almost transparent. And about five feet away, moving in the exact same way that its illusion did, was the true cat.

"The cat isn't where it appears," I said in surprise.

"What?" my mother said.

"The cat. It's casting an illusion of some kind," I told her. I pointed, making sure to not extend my finger over the circle. "It's about five feet to the right of where it appears. Like it's—"

A startled shout cut me off, which was quickly followed by the bark of gunfire.

I started to turn, to see what had happened, but my eyes were drawn back to the circle edge only two feet in front of me. The cat and toad had both turned at the sound, and their glowing eyes fixated on us in the circle, their feud forgotten.

And as I watched, the smoke started drifting over the circle.

"EVERYONE BACK!" I shouted as I brought the spear up. My mother raised her gun, and I heard a scream from somewhere behind me as the demons surged forward.

"Use the iron!" I shouted as I thrust my spear into the smoke barreling forward. As the enchanted blade pierced the fog, fiery sparks trailed in its wake, and the smoke quickly curled away.

Shots rang out around me, but I didn't have time to figure out what was happening. The cat demon was getting ready to pounce, even as the toad demon charged forward.

Sal leapt from my pocket, growing in mid-air as he leapt at the cat's form. But apparently he couldn't see through the illusion, and he jumped at the wrong cat.

"Watch out!" I called as the real cat leapt overhead, jumping for the group. The hooded figure behind me spun around and out of sight, chasing it, as I squared off against the toad demon.

The thing bellowed at me, the sound a cross between a roar and burp, and I dove aside as a glob of acid flew through the air. A little caught me on the leg, but the Balaur leather held up, and I didn't feel my leg burning off as I rose from my roll.

I thrust the spear at the creature, and was delighted when it seized my weapon. It roared in pain at the touch of the metal, the iron content high enough to cause it some serious pain. Or if not the iron, then the silver that was worked into the blade and shaft.

Either way, something didn't agree with it, and it recoiled from the touch. I took the moment it bought me to thrust at it with the spear, and sank the spearhead into its gut.

It roared again, and took a swipe at me. I ducked low, and used the spear's guard to try and shove the toad away. But my strength was nowhere near enough to move its mass, and all I did was press the blade further into its hide.

I was just thinking about trying to burn it with the heated blade spell when Sal leapt upon the creature. His teeth tore at its ectoplasmic flesh, and fires spread quickly along its bloated form.

I withdrew the spear and spun it in a slashing motion, cutting the toad demon's leg out from beneath it. I didn't cut it off entirely, but the unnatural flesh tore open at the touch of the blade. The demon fell, with Sal swarming across it in a hurry.

Taking a moment to check on the others, I saw that they were faring far worse than we were. The cat demon had leapt among the kids, and at least two were down from blows from the tentacles. The hooded form had reached it and attacked the cat in its true location rather than its illusion. Purple fires burned along its flesh as it pounced away, a cry of pain piercing the room.

The hood had fallen back from the figure, revealing the mulberry tresses of the Lampad known as Violet.

Her amaranthine eyes swiveled around, searching me out in the chaos. She brightened in the dark when she saw me standing, and then quickly continued searching the room.

I did as well, and caught a glimpse what had most likely caused the circle to go down.

Across the room was the Wazowski demon. One cop lay dead near it, while another two were emptying their magazines into it. The beast was reacting to those attacks more than it had when my mother had shot at it the evening before, so I assumed the holy rounds were doing their duty.

The one-eyed monster was trying to split its debilitating spell between the two cops, but when one was targeted, the other would attack. But in the short time I was watching, the second cop's gun snapped open, its magazine spent. Each had only had nine rounds of the holy water dipped bullets, and it looked like they'd spent theirs.

The demon shook, rising from the damaging wounds, even as the cops reloaded with their backup magazines. Its hateful red eye trained on one, and I saw one of the cops stagger under its gaze.

Hefting the spear, I hurled it at the eye, and felt a grim satisfaction as it struck home. The thing squealed in agony as the enchanted blade hit with enough force to drive it back. The spear pinned it to the wall, and I shouted the command for the heated blade from across the room.

The monster burst into flames, but I didn't have time to relish in the victory. A sound from behind me drew my attention back, and I turned just as the toad demon swung at my shoulder.

I was sent flying through the air, the force of the blow like a battering ram. My right arm went numb, and I tumbled to a halt ten yards away from where I'd stood.

Looking up, I saw the toad demon charging toward me. Sal leapt upon it again, slowing it down. It seemed that the toad demon had been sent after me, as it was ignoring the others.

In the background, I saw my mother and another of the cops standing guard over a fallen girl. She was curled up in a ball beneath them, gripping a tire iron in her grasp and waving it across her face. Above her, my mother and the cop both brandished their own iron weapons; the cop held a steel baton and an iron poker. My mother, her own baton, and the Kenku throwing knife I'd given her.

The knife flickered through the air as she spun it, the metal glinting as it burned the formless smoke demon. The other iron weapons seemed to deter it, but didn't have the same affect as the knife. I only hoped that the smoke's determination to get the girl didn't shift to those of the defenders, as I don't think either of them were taking any precautions to defend their own faces.

The bellow of the toad demon drew me back, and I saw that it had thrown Sal aside. Cursing myself for getting distracted, I stumbled to my feet and unzipped my jacket enough to reach the Beretta holstered there. It was difficult using my left hand, but it wasn't the first time, and I managed to pull it and click the safety off before the beast reached me.

I opened fire, and backed away as the demon stumbled. Its right leg was still in ruins, but it could function enough to move. Apparently the holy water bullets were too much for it, and the thing crashed down to the floor again as it clutched at the wounds in its chest.

Flexing the fingers of my right hand, I made sure it was strong enough to hold the gun. After transferring it, I extended my left out away from my body.

" _Pel-hyamra_ ," I commanded as the toad demon struggled to its feet. It was just beginning its lumbering charge when the enchanted spear answered the call from my spell. The ring in my left hand thrummed, and the toad demon almost looked surprised when the spear flew across the room and into my hand.

Its neck started the familiar spasming that accompanied its acid spit, so I swung the the still glowing blade one-handed. The foot long length of red-hot steel tore through its throat, nearly decapitating it in one pass. It fell to its knees as the acid gurgled up from its exposed throat.

A second swipe of the blade seperated its head from its body. And as its form began to fall backward, I thrust the blade into its heart.

The monster went up in flames, and I left the spear in long enough to be sure it wouldn't be getting up. Then I turned my attention back to the others.

The rest had fallen into two groups. Three cops stood with most of the kids, armed with guns and iron as they all watched the cat pacing around them. Several more of them were sporting burns and wounds, looking similar to what the toad had experienced when the cat's tentacles had struck it.

Violet stood with that group, her amaranthine eyes glowing bright as she stared at the cat's true form. The others tried to follow it, but couldn't see where they needed to attack.

The second group consisted of my mother, the second cop, and a couple other kids that had joined them in the defense of Bethany. Someone had thought to have her put an iron pipe in her mouth, and she carefully breathed around that while pinching her nose shut. The rest were all swinging their iron weapons desperately, but the smoke demon was striking out with powerful gusts that sent them spinning away.

I ran for my mother's group, the glowing spearhead ahead of me as I went. I could feel my body beginning to fatigue from the constant use of the spell, as the enchantments funneled the magic required through my body.

Rather than running right at them, I ran in a circle, trailing the tip of the spear across the tile floor. A red-hot line marked my progress, and in no time, I'd enclosed them in another circle. As soon as it was closed, I spun the spear around, and struck the pommel against the still smoking ring.

I just managed to get the command word for the barrier out before a wave of smoke washed over me, hitting me like a ten foot wave from the ocean. I was sent sprawling, and lost my grip on the spear.

And then the smoke was in my throat. The demon filled my lungs, the dark fog flowing up and over my face, blinding me. I wondered why it was willing to attack me rather than the others that had defended the girl, but then I realized that if I died, the circle now protecting them would die with me.

I coughed, desperate for air as my lungs filled with smoke.

As they did, a cold feeling crept over my right hand. The feeling in that arm wasn't fully restored yet, so I didn't realize what was happening at first. But after moment, the smoke started pouring out of me, as fast as it had come.

The dark cloud wavered in front of me, its swirling tendrils forming a mask of hatred as it screamed silently at me. My bone-white ring burned cold against my middle finger.

I recalled in a previous encounter with the ring, where I'd been engulfed in flames. The ring had not only protected me from the fierce fires of the Balaur, but it had also allowed me to breath amongst them, unaffected by the smoke and the heat.

The ring was doing the same now, preventing my body from any harm born of flame.

I smiled a dark smile as I whispered the summoning spell again, and the spear shot into my left hand. I swiped it back and forth in front of me, the smoke burning with cinders and ash as the enchanted blade cut through it.

From behind the dark cloud, a bright glow began to form. It was an amethyst light, and suddenly the smoke was spinning away in haste, retreating from the touch of the violet torch wielded behind it.

Violet strode toward me, her face set with determination. In her right hand she bore her Lampad torch, the lilac and lavender flames slashing back and forth through the air like a fiery whip. And everywhere it turned, the smoke demon retreated.

Within moments, the smoke was gone, flowing out the gaping door. I watched as it departed, even as fresh snow accumulated in the broken doorway.

When Violet reached me, she looked me over, concern flickering as she saw me favoring my right arm.

"I'm fine," I assured her, even as I lifted the spear and struck the pommel to the floor, leaning slightly against it. A whispered command extinguished the red-hot blade, and exhaustion washed over me as the spell was spent.

I looked over the room, and saw Sal poking at the remnants of the cat demon. All that was left was a smoking husk, which was quickly disintegrating. A glance confirmed the same fate for the Wazowski and the toad demon.

Some of the kids were crying, and I strode over, hoping I didn't look as weary as I felt. I wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep for a week. But there were people down, and the smoke demon was still out there.

The others looked to me as I approached.

"Clear the ring," I said, gesturing toward the larger circle. Luckily the smaller one I'd burned was within it, and didn't cross its path. I looked to one of the cops still standing. "Retrieve what medical supplies you can, and then come back."

"But it's gone," one of the girls said. I turned to her, and she might have flinched.

"It's gone, but not for good," I said, taking in the others. "We need to treat our wounded, and then restore the circle. The night is not over."

The others sprang into motion, and within a short time, those that had survived were back in the enclosed the circle.

When everything was ready, I struck the floor with my spear once more, and we began the long wait for dawn.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

There were two fatalities in the night.

The first was the cop that had fired at the Wazowski on reflex. It had surged out of the dark, jumping at the barrier when the other demons had been on the far side. The officer reacted to the seeming threat without thinking, and was the first to fall.

The second fatality was Mike Phan.

It seemed that Gregg Connor had sent several demons on several tasks. The Wazowski demon was sent after my mother again, but the two cops had cut it off with their holy rounds. My spear finished it before it could accomplish its goal.

The second demon was the toad demon, which seemed fixated on me. I had no doubt that the summoner had used my cigarette butt to hone in on me with that spell, and the toad demon was dispatched to kill me. Instead, I dispatched it.

The third demon was sent after Mike Phan.

Violet did what she could to stop it, but its initial attack was fast and accurate. Mike was dead before Violet had even finished turning, and then the demon had set about hurting the others.

Several needed desperate medical attention, but they were stable enough to last the night. Bethany got some smoke in her lungs when the demon first went for her, but my mother's quick reaction saved her. Others had been injured by the flailing limbs of the cat demon, and the two cops facing the Wazowski had several injuries between them.

That we were all in the same place was both a blessing and a curse. The demons had been able to attack en masse since we'd gathered together. Only the fact that they'd worked independently, rather than together, had spared us. And had we been seperated, few of us would have survived. But even with our success, there was still a high cost to the evening.

When the dawn finally broke, the wounded were taken to the hospital. Some had wanted to leave early, but the smoke demon's return had silenced those pleas.

It fled not long before dawn, and as the sun rose, we parted ways. And even though there was a profound sense of relief that so many had survived, instructions were given to have everyone return that night.

If Connors wasn't stopped, there'd be a repeat performance.

As dawn broke, Violet departed. Just like she always did.

"Interesting girl," my mother said as Violet walked away. Her eyes widened when a swirl of amethyst light encircled said girl, and she disappeared into thin air.

"You have no idea," I told her, my exhaustion telling. "But you might not want to call her a girl. I think she's older than Christianity."

My mother just stared at me, and I started limping toward her car.

* * *

I spent the morning at the hospital, where they confirmed that my right shoulder had been dislocated. Once it was reset, I was given meds to help with the pain, and instructions to take it easy for a few days. I walked out of the hospital with my arm in a sling.

My mother had dropped me off, and then proceeded to lead an army of officers to the Connors house. Word spread quickly about the harrowing night, with the four surviving cops all assuring their brethren that my mother wasn't crazy.

With an officer dead, the others reacted accordingly, and stormed the Connors house without a warrant. I was pretty sure it would be my mom's last order as police chief, but she wasn't playing games anymore. No threat of prosecution or unemployment was going to prevent her from doing what needed to be done to keep the town safe.

I needn't have worried. There was no-one left to complain. When they breached, they walked into a bloodbath.

Dr. and Mrs. Connors were found in the living room. And the kitchen. And the dining room. There was still more of them in the back yard. But with everything combined, there was less than half a human being remaining.

There was no sign of Gregg Connors. It seemed that he'd packed some things hastily, as his room was turned over, and one of the Connors' cars was missing. An APB went out to be on the lookout.

Our guess was that Gregg had sicked one of the demons, or possibly more, on his parents. There had been a delay between the arrival of the smoke demon and the arrival of the others. Mom speculated that his parents had been keeping an eye on him, but couldn't imagine why he'd killed them.

Recalling his look after his father had slapped him, and the perverse pleasure Gregg had had when I'd knocked his father out, I knew exactly why.

"So what now?" my mother asked as we stood outside the Connors house. A squad car had driven by the hospital to pick me up, and delivered me to the scene.

"We have to find Gregg," I said, my voice dulled from exhaustion and drugs.

"Do you think he'll stick around?" she asked. She sounded like she hoped otherwise.

"I don't know," I admitted. "But whether he plans to or not, we need the book to finish off the smoke demon."

Violet had identified it as an Enenra. It was some sort of Japanese yōkai that lived in bonfires. Some were bad, some were mischievous, but all of them were a pain in the ass to banish without a name. Even the nymph had been unable to do so, with the smoke demon swiftly avoiding incineration from her Lampad torch.

"So unless we find him, we'll have to deal with it all over again tonight," she said, her voice filling with dread.

"Seems likely," I confirmed. "We'll need to take precautions again."

"Lets get some rest, then," she said, and we climbed into her car and headed for home.

* * *

My grandmother met us there, and had a big breakfast waiting when we arrived. She even had some charcoaled bacon ready for Sal, although I couldn't recall having told her about that before.

After eating, I headed to my room. I heard my father arrive as I was cleaning up, but as I didn't hear raised voices, I assumed he was being civil. Rather than joining him, and just making the situation worse, I crashed into bed, and was out like a light.

I only got about four hours of sleep before a voice gently calling my name woke me.

I started up, worrying about how much time had passed. Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was late afternoon. There was still plenty of time to get ready if the cops hadn't found Gregg yet.

Tired yet restless, I rose, and went looking for whoever had woken me.

My mother was gone, as was my father. Only my grandmother was there, and she was watching television.

"Did you call for me?" I asked as I settled down next to her.

She looked to me, her eyes blinking widely. "No dear. I was going to let you sleep."

"Huh," I said, and rubbed my tired eyes. "I thought I heard something."

"Maybe it was the brownies," she said with a wink, and turned back to the television.

Her comment reminded me of the stories she'd told us years earlier. My father had mentioned them in his rant the day before, and I realized I hadn't thought of them in years. Most of the time I blocked out thoughts of my early childhood. But I found myself recalling one story.

"Didn't you used to tell us about the kidnapped princess?" I asked, trying to recall the details.

"Of course, dear. Many of them. There is always a princess in need of a rescue. Sometimes even a prince."

"I'm thinking of the one with the dragons," I clarified. "Wasn't there one about the three-headed dragons?"

"Oh, yes. That was one of— well, it was a favorite," she finished, drawing short of naming my sister.

I glanced at the closed door, and then turned back to my grandmother.

"Where did you hear all those stories?" I asked her.

"Oh, you know," she said. "Here and there." She leaned closer and gave me a conspiratorial wink. "Back in my day, we didn't have so many toys and contraptions to entertain us. Sometimes we just had to make do with stories and our imaginations."

She made it sound as if she'd been around a lot longer than she had. "Come on, you guys had televisions when you were young."

"Did we?" she asked, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "I don't recall that many."

My response was cut short when my cell phone rang. I checked the caller ID, and saw that it was mom. "What's up?" I asked after flipping it open.

"We haven't found him yet," she said, sounding exhausted.

"Have you gotten any sleep?" I questioned, worried that she was pushing herself too hard.

"A little," she said vaguely. "We've got people all over town, but there's been no sign of him."

"Then I guess we'll have to prepare the conference room again tonight."

"I've already got people doing that," she informed me. "Those that have already been released from the hospital have started arriving. The rest will be here well before dark. And I've got a bevy of volunteers."

"Having too many around might be a problem," I reminded her. "The circle is only so big."

"We'll pare it down," she assured me, her tone reminding me who was the parent and who was the child. "Come over when you're ready. Your dad and I retrieved Nana's car earlier, so it's waiting."

"Thanks," I said. After we said our goodbyes, I hung up. I looked to my grandmother, and found her staring curiously at my phone.

"Didn't you have one of those fancy intelligent phones?" she asked.

"I did, but it died on me," I explained. "I had a second one go out within the year, and the insurance company dropped me. So I'm making do with this."

"I see," she said, her bright eyes glinting. "Well, sometimes old things are just as useful as new ones."

I smiled, and kissed her on the forehead as I rose. "I've got to get ready for tonight."

"Good luck, dear prince," she called after me. "And don't forget your armor."

* * *

Clad once more in my dragon leathers, I headed toward the precinct, where I found about a bajillion people waiting.

The news vans had apparently left, after having spent the morning and most of the day broadcasting live from the station. Rumors about the action from the night before had spread not only from the police, but also from those that had gone to the hospital. There was a buzz around town, as the locals all wondered at the connections between a supposed assault on the precinct, the deaths of two prominent citizens, and the search for their son.

Even with the reporters absent, every cop and fireman in town was there. I had trouble finding a place to park, and ended up huffing it on foot.

As I passed through a security check that had been established at the front door, I noted barrels of water in the front lobby of the station. I watched as cops dipped steel batons and assorted items in them, and then carted them off.

"Holy water," my father said as he approached from behind. His tone was disbelieving. "Your mother had the local priests blessing barrels of water so that her people could act like lunatics from a monster movie."

"What are you doing here?" I asked him, not bothering to hide my frustration with his attitude.

"Don't take that tone with me," he snapped, before thinking better of it. A few cops looked our way, and for once, their stony gazes weren't intended for me. I wondered if my reputation among them had changed overnight.

"I'm here to talk sense into your mother," he said, lowering his voice. "The press have gotten word of all of this. They're making a mockery of her. You need to stop with all this nonsens—"

Before he finished, I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him through a doorway behind us. It led into a small waiting room that families could use. There was no-one in there, so I slammed the door shut behind us.

"What the hell has gotten into you?!" he yelled, his face flushing.

"Sal," I said sternly.

The lizard quickly crawled out of his box. My father watched him as he leapt to the floor.

"What does your liza—" he began, until Sal grew midst a swirl of heated air, growing until he was the size of a doberman. "Mother of God!" my father shouted as he backed away.

While Sal had been moving, I'd unzipped my bag, and withdrew the steel rod. As my father stared at the fire elemental, I whispered the command words beneath my breath. The rod snapped out into the form of a spear, and the spearhead began to glow with silver-white light.

My father froze as he stared at the magical weapon, and the light it that was emanating from it. It wasn't the heat spell; instead, I'd only activated an illumination spell similar to the ones laid on my rings. It required less energy, and didn't leave me exhausted like the other.

"Magic is real," I said in a cold voice I reserved for those that had well and truly pissed me off. "Demons are real. Faeries are real. Goblins are real. Vampires, and werewolves, and nymphs, and dragons, and rat-faced leprechauns. They're all real."

I stepped toward him as he retreated back. "Wizards are real. Sorcerers are real. And demon summoning assholes are real. The last one is what we're dealing with right now."

I leaned down, my eyes narrow. "I've tried to tell you. Hell, I've shown you. I was seventeen when I brought Sal home, and you _saw_ when he lit a blanket on fire."

"That— that was a match!" he protested weakly.

"No, that was the pitiful excuse you came up with to deny what you _saw_ ," I said darkly. "Fifteen times in that first year. _Fifteen times_ he had issues keeping his flames in check, and you blamed me for _every single one_. Even the times I _Wasn_ _'_ _t_. _Fucking. Home._ "

"But you always had a thing for fire," he sputtered, trying to recover. "Long before you brought that damned thing home."

Sal growled at that. "Yes. I was a budding arsonist when I was younger. Imagine that. My dad was the fire chief, and took me on every call he had after I turned ten."

"That was to keep you safe!" he shouted, regaining a little bit of his spine.

"I _know_ that!" I shouted back. "You were afraid you were going to lose another child, so you carted me along with you every time you left the house. And I spent my childhood watching fires. You taught me everything I know about flame. And somewhere along the way, my interest became an obsession. One that I had dealt with long before Sal came along. But you've never accepted that I changed. That I grew up."

The words for the heated spell were out of me so fast he had no hope of comprehending them. The white light of the spearhead changed to red-hot steel in an instant. You could feel the heat rolling off of it.

"I may not have much power, but I do have some," I told him. "I've been exposed to more than you could possibly imagine. I've held and seen incredible things. I've saved lives, and taken others. I've gained the respect of powerful beings that have lived longer than you can imagine."

I snuffed the spell out with a slithering breath, and the spear collapsed into its smallest form. I held the rod beside me as he stared, unable to comprehend what he'd seen.

"And all you see is a kid throwing matches."

I turned and headed for the door, sliding the rod back into my bag. Sal scrambled after me, and as I opened the door, he was on my shoulder, no bigger than any other salamander. He dropped into my pocket as I slammed the door shut, and went to do what needed to be done.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Thirty minutes before nightfall, the precinct was empty, save for the handful of people in the holding cells, the guards for the cells that had their eyes glued to the windows, and the people that were going to be enclosed in the circle.

All of the kids were back, and just as nervous as they'd been the night before. The four cops that had survived the first night had insisted on helping, and had four more standing at the ready. Each had several guns, batons, and knives, all of which had been dipped in the holy water out front. The bullets had all been dipped as well, leaving the casing dry but the heads hopefully blessed in their duty.

The kids were also armed, albeit with batons. The makeshift weapons from the night before had been removed, as had many of the cots. A few were still in place, as were chairs for everyone to sit in and the port-a-potty, which someone had thankfully emptied during the day.

The lights overhead had seen modifications, with the holes in the housing sealed off. A steel plate covered the plug in the floor, and the door to the outside had already been replaced.

As I walked into the room, a motion beside me drew my attention. I was surprised to see Violet at my side, materializing out of thin air.

"Good evening, Woody," she said with a nod, her amaranthine eyes bright in the low-lit room. The other lights hadn't been repaired yet, so the only illumination came from those within the circle.

"Violet," I said softly, a warmth spreading through me at the sight of her.

I hadn't learned everything about my Lampad in the years since I'd met her, but I'd learned some. I knew she was a nymph who was said to have served Zeus, Hades, and Hecate, perhaps at different times. Her kind did many thing, ranging from escorting Hecate on her travels in the underworld, shepherding souls to the afterlife, and half a dozen other rumors and speculations. She was ancient, and powerful, and beautiful beyond compare.

Most of that I'd learned from resources other than her. She didn't speak about herself, and sparingly answered any questions. I didn't even know her real name.

I also knew that, no matter what legends said about how beautiful and seductive nymphs supposedly were, they didn't do her justice.

"Another night?" she asked, her eyes drifting over the others. She was dressed the same as she had the night before. A pair of black jeans, a deep purple hoodie, and a pair of lavender All-Stars. I'd seen the look in a magazine once, and mentioned that outfits like that were more appropriate in modern times than her flowing robes.

Her robes had shimmered around her, until I found myself beside a Lampad matching the picture's outfit exactly, save for the color scheme. The girl liked her purple.

She caught me staring at her, and she stood on her toes to kiss me. "Thank you," she said.

"For what?" I asked, stunned once more by her beauty.

"For the compliment."

"What compliment?" I asked, but she ignored me, her attention turning toward my mother as she approached.

"Everything's ready," she said, her eyes darting between us. She'd been amazed at Violet when she'd first arrived the night before, but I don't think she'd guessed at our relationship until she saw the kiss.

"Perfect. Lets get everyone sealed up then," I said, and led them toward the circle.

"We can't go on like this," my mother said. "It took the threat of marshal law to get the press out of here earlier."

"Do you have that much authority?" I asked.

"No, not even close," she replied with a tired smile. "But they weren't sure. So we have tonight at best."

Violet nodded. "We must find the Enenra's name, and destroy its bonfire."

I froze.

Violet and my mother turned to me as I stood there slapping my forehead and whispering, "Idiot. Idiot. Idiot…"

"Woody, what is it?" my mother asked, confused.

"I know where its bonfire is," I said, rubbing at my head. I blamed lack of sleep and nerves for making me a fool. "And I know where Gregg is hiding."

"What? Where?" she asked, suddenly on alert.

"At the old Sells place," I said, shaking my head. "It's where it all started. And it's closed off. There's plenty of space in that long driveway to hide his car. No-one goes out there."

"I'll call some officers," mom said, reaching for her walkie-talkie.

"No," I said cutting her off. When she started to argue, I waved her down. "Those woods are thick and dark. If he summons demons there, the cops won't stand a chance."

"Should we wait until morning then?" she asked.

"No. I'll go now."

My mother began protesting, but Violet nodded. "Woody stands the best chance of stopping the summoner."

My mother and I both looked to her in surprise. I knew I'd be lying through my teeth if I said that, so I wasn't sure if that meant Violet was doing the same, or if she really meant it.

"Mom, I've dealt with these things," I told her. "Besides, the smoke demon will be coming here, and most likely the Wazowski as well."

My mother frowned. "But doesn't that mean you'll have to contend with the other two alone? And anything else he might be able to call up?"

"Mom, trust me," I said softly. "I can do this."

She stared at me for a moment, before nodding. "Alright. Then take this," she said, drawing out the Kenku knife I'd lent her.

"No, you'll need that," I told her. "You guys will be in charge of keeping the kids safe. I don't know if it'll still be after Bethany, or if it'll move on to the next in the line. And if the circle falls, you'll need it to keep the demon at bay."

My mother relented, putting the knife away.

"Be careful," she said, tears budding in her eyes as she kissed my cheek. She turned away quickly and wiped them away as she headed for the circle.

I tapped on Sal's box, and plucked him out when he appeared. I placed him on Violet's shoulder. "Watch out for them."

Violet tilted her head. "You do not wish for me to come with you?"

"No," I lied. "I need to know that they'll be safe."

Her eyes studied mine, a knowing look there. "You do not wish me to see what you will do."

I started, surprised. Apparently she knew me better than I realized. "I don't want you to see me do this."

"I have seen death before, Woodrow Hayes." But despite her comment, the Lampad nodded in understanding. "Already my actions may draw questions. Perhaps a defensive act will be more excusable than an offensive one."

I had no idea what that meant, and was afraid to find out. When I'd called for her late yesterday afternoon, I wasn't sure she'd come. But when she had, she'd quickly agreed to defend the kids.

Maybe I should have wondered what that would cost her, and me, in the long run. But I'd needed her help, so whatever it was, I'd have to pay it.

"Thank you," I told her.

Her smile brightened, and she kissed me again. "Of course, my Fëanáro."

* * *

Which is how I found myself driving my grandmother's SUV out to the old Sells place, alone, to face a demon summoner.

The sun was just beginning to set when the car tore down the driveway. I quickly reached the barrier that had been in place the day before, and didn't slow down as the Wagoneer burst through it. The gate swung open, the chain already loose, and I continued on.

When I rounded the last bend, I spotted the Connors' missing car just inside the tree line. The SUV skidded to a stop, and I quickly climbed out. Checking the car, I found it empty, but the hood was still warm. I ran on toward the the peninsula, strapping my helmet on with its face-mask in place.

As I approached, the sky to the west grew dark, and nightfall was upon us.

The bonfire was lit up ahead, and I thought I saw a figure before it. I ran on, my spear snapping out with a command, and the rest of my weapons spread around my body.

When I was about thirty yards away, the figure I saw turned. It was much too large to be Gregg, and I recognized the form of the toad demon. It's blue eyes glinted in the dark, glowing brighter as it spotted me.

I whispered a command into my glasses, and the area around me brightened as the night vision spell kicked in. The form of the toad demon grew defined, as did the cat demon pacing several yards away.

I hastily activated the revealing spell, and located the cat's true form. Once again it was projecting an illusion. Without the glasses, I wouldn't have known where to look.

Before I grew any closer, the bonfire roared to life, the meager flames shooting up into the night, and belching out a column of dark smoke. It swirled in the air overhead for a moment, and then shot out across the sky. I knew without turning that it was heading straight for the precinct.

The last form by the fire was that of Gregg Connors.

He was crouched close to the bonfire, a circle of twigs and branches enclosing him. He looked up as I approached, and I could just make out his shadowed face, twisted by baneful magic.

"This certainly makes things easier," he shouted as he stood within the circle. He looked me over, no doubt observing my leathers, spear, and the helmet I wore. The protective mask, similar to one you'd wear while paint balling, covered the bottom half of my face. Almost every inch of me was covered with some sort of protective gear.

"End this now, Gregg," I said, drawing closer.

"I intend to," he said with a wicked laugh. "I finally figured out how to control the smoke demon," he shouted, gesturing toward a ring of branches around the bonfire. "Now it's not just going to kill the others one at a time to free itself; it's going to kill all of them, all at once, and your mother along with them."

I unzipped my jacket a little, and shifted my spear to my left hand. "Banish the demons, Gregg. Banish them now, before its too late for you."

He watched me withdraw the Beretta, and just laughed. "What are you going to do, shoot me?" He dropped to his knees, where I saw him reference a book laying on the pavement beside him. "The Chief of Police's son kills me in cold blood? What will they say?"

"Oh, I don't think they'd be too upset," I told him. "But no, I don't plan on shooting you."

"Coward," he shouted with a smile. "You're just afraid of my demons. But don't worry; I'm not sending them after the others. They're programmed to stay here and protect me from anyone that threatens me."

"These two?" I taunted. "Don't make me laugh."

The boy frowned. "Fine. If you think you can handle them, maybe I should get them some help."

"No amount of help will turn you into a real man, Gregg," I goaded him. His jaw dropped in shock at my words. "No wonder your dad looked down on you. A pitiful little thing, kneeling before others. I bet he was embarrassed you couldn't kill him yourself."

"FUCK YOU!" he screamed at me. "We'll see who's laughing when my demons are finished with you!"

He quickly turned back to his book, and I flipped the safety off on my gun. I heard him whispering, but couldn't make out what he was saying until his voice rose at the end.

"-chinothica!" he screamed. "I summon thee!"

A shadow appeared in the darkness, like ink pouring from an invisible well. It dripped across the sand, until the now familiar form of the Wazowski demon took shape.

"Demon, I order you—"

His words were cut off as my gun barked three times.

The boy flinched, thinking he was hit. But after a moment, his eyes drifted toward the circle he'd wrapped around himself. My shots had knocked one of the branches askew, leaving his circle broken.

"What have you do—" he began, but then his words died in his throat as the Wazowski leapt upon him.

With the circle protecting him broken before he could enforce his will on the demon, the boy was left vulnerable. And from what I understood, nobody likes to be manipulated.

"Should have looked into the laws of magic before you began to dabble," I shouted at him as he screamed in pain. "They really frown on bending creatures to your will. Even demons."

"Help! Help me!" he screamed as the Wazowski enjoyed itself.

"You seem to have mistaken me for someone else," I said coldly as I grew closer. "I'm not a hero. I'm not here to save you."

The toad demon stood poised, waiting for me to threaten that which he was supposed to protect. Apparently me shooting the circle around him didn't count; or maybe the demons really did resent being used, and were doing the bare minimum that he asked.

Too bad Gregg hadn't said to protect him from other demons.

When I was a few feet away, I stopped. Gregg was dying fast. Maybe not fast enough, or maybe too fast. My thoughts drifted to Mike Phan, and the dead cop. I saw the girl dead in her apartment, and the photos of the others that had died because the fool had dabbled in that which he didn't understand.

So. Maybe too fast.

But eventually he died. And when he did, the demons were no longer bound to his will. Which meant they were free to do as they pleased.

My spearhead lit up as the toad demon charged. I turned toward it, and fired several holy rounds into its gut. It slowed down, enough for me to divide my attention toward the cat demon charging me.

With my spear in hand, I ripped the bead bracelet from my right wrist and hurled it at where the cat really was, rather than the illusion. Surprised at the attack, the demon was caught up in the magical wires that shot out between all the beads. It tumbled to the ground as I turned back to the toad demon, which was preparing to spit.

I dove as the acid arced out. Some of it might have caught me in the back, but my leathers kept me safe. I turned the dive into a roll, and swung the spear around as I rose. The tip sliced through the toad demon's ankle, and he began to collapse toward me.

Spinning like Q had taught me to avoid his flailing limbs, I swiped the spear around, and took its head off cleanly the second time around.

A scream alerted me to the cat demon, which had torn free of the net. It ran at me, darting to the side every couple of steps to prevent me from taking aim with the gun. Instead of trying, I dropped the spear pommel to the ground, and whispered the command for an empowered circle.

Without a guiding line to follow, the spell fell back on its default. A band of flame shot out around me, with the length of the spear acting as the radius of the circle. When it snapped closed, the power fueling the heated blade disappeared, even as the cat demon leapt at me.

The creature cried out in surprise when its body rebounded off the unseen wall. While it was still in the air, I lifted the gun and fired. The holy rounds tore through the flailing creature, as well as the circle itself. With the barrier down, I whispered the command for the heated blade, and the spearhead grew red-hot again. I swiped downward at the demon, and took it through the neck.

Before I could celebrate, a nauseous feeling washed over me. I fell to a knee, and turned to see the Wazowski demon creeping toward me, its red eye glowing. It had finished playing with what was left of Gregg, and was looking to even the score with me.

I fought down the bile rising in my throat, and concentrated on the demon as it picked up speed. It was still ten yards away when I dropped my gun to hold my right hand out toward it, palm out.

" _Bletcha-forma_ ," I rasped out through gritted teeth.

At the command, the silver ring on my right hand lit up, a cavalcade of light spilling out like my old party-popper sticks used to. My glasses went dark, shielding my eyes from the brilliant display, before turning opaque again as the spell completed.

The Wazowski had slid to a stop, its one eye clenched shut and shielded by its claws as it screech in pain. With his eye off of me, the nausea inducing spell disappeared, and I rose as I hefted the spear.

I hurled it, and the blade sunk through its hands and into its eye. The form rocketed backward from the blow, before skidding to a stop on the cracked and overgrown pavement.

I walked forward, and twisted the super-heated blade, until the demon's body burst into flames. Then I glanced at the other two, to make sure they were on their way to oblivion.

All three were gone in a matter of moments, their remains nothing but cinders and ash in the wind.

As I looked around, I saw a figure slowly approach from the tree line. I dropped the spear pommel down and released the heat spell. With it gone, I leaned against the weapon, even as I activated the illumination spell for the blade.

The silver white light brightened the finger of land, and revealed my father's ashen face as he approached. I unsnapped one side of my mask, and let it dangle from my helmet.

"Mother of God," he whispered, looking at the remnants of the demons as they dissolved into thin air.

"Hey dad," I said, trying for casual despite my exhaustion. I cracked a smile, and was pleasantly surprised when it didn't make him run screaming.

"Want to help me banish a smoke demon?"


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Thirty minutes later, it was all over.

It took me that long to work out the pronunciation of the smoke demon's name. I tried summoning it several times using the circle Gregg had created around the bonfire, and the spell found in his book.

Once I finally got it right, it only took a minute for the demon to come rolling across the night sky, and into the ring around the fire. It wavered in place, awaiting my command.

In the end, it was almost anti-climactic. I used the banishing portion of the spell from the book, and the demon simply faded away. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but it seemed almost relieved. But I tend to impart too much emotion into things, so I was probably imagining it.

I never got an answer as to why the demon was killing one kid at a time, or why it had bothered with them in the first place. Gregg had said something about it being trapped, and killing to free itself. I wasn't versed well enough in summoning to know how it worked, and my review of the book and its spells didn't offer any concrete answers. The closest I got was a reference to demons turning on the summoner if not properly called.

Gregg apparently completed the ritual correctly that last night, and tasked it with cleaning up his mess. When I summoned it back and banished it, whatever cause it had to pursue the kids was gone.

My father stayed with me, and then called my mom from his cell to let her know everything was over. My flip phone shorted out during the fight, so I made a note to myself to stop by a store before heading back to Chicago.

About thirty seconds after dad hung up, Violet appeared in a swirl of periwinkle. Dad fell over, and then watched as the beautiful Lampad leapt into my arms and gave me a victory kiss that curled my toes.

"I knew you could do it, my Fëanáro," she whispered.

"No, I told you. That's the spear's name." We'd gone over it a dozen times, but she seemed to be confused about it. "Cool weapons get names, not their wielders."

"Are you not the weapon?" she said cryptically, and before I could respond, pressed her lips to mine again.

Dad averted his eyes.

The cops arrived a few minutes later, and started investigating the scene. By then, all of my weapons and shell casings had been recovered. The detectives declared that Gregg Connors had killed himself in some hair-brained ritualistic fashion after doing the same to his parents.

The official report on the other deaths was similar. Taking a page from my Jekyll and Hyde procedure, their findings were that Gregg Connors found what he thought was an old magic book, and tried summoning a demon with unsuspecting accomplices.

When that failed, he fell to mundane means to complete his work. Using an air tank and gas mask, Gregg had climbed in the first victim's back window, climbing atop the back porch to enter. He'd attacked the second victim similarly by entering into the back of the Pizza 'Spress. The third victim was attacked in the car, and the fourth in her apartment. Chloroform knocked the victims out, and then he placed the mask over their face and filled their lungs with smoke.

The only person that had witnessed any of those attacks, and could have countered that statement, was Mike Phan. With him dead, there was no dissenting voices to that explanation. Even the second victim's opportunistic family was forced to accept that, and lost out on their payday.

The reports of ghostly apparitions and monsters were attributed to the ravings of the kids, who had all participated in the bonfire at the Sells' old place. The report said that long forgotten chemicals there had gone airborne when the kids lit their fire, and they all experienced hallucinations for several days. The cops that had seen the monsters kept mum, as did the kids. Everyone wanted to put it behind them.

We still didn't know if there would be any fall-out for my mother. Only time would tell if all of the excitement would settle down without costing her the job. Mike Phan and a cop had died at the precinct under her watch. The only excuse we could come up with was that Gregg had snuck into the precinct and killed them both. It didn't sound good, but there was nothing else that people would believe.

As for myself, the charges for assault against Dr. Connors were dropped. Their lawyer was too busy trying to fend off suits against the family's estate from the victims' families to bother with the likes of me. Not when the offended party was dead and buried.

The news outlets were excited about the events for about twenty-four hours, but after the boring report was released, interest faded quickly. Within a month, everyone in Lake Providence, Michigan, was doing everything they could to forget about the deaths, just as they had the case of Victor Sells years earlier.

* * *

My mother confirmed that the smoke demon had returned to the precinct that night, and had tried to attack them. It never got through the barrier, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief when the call came through that it was over.

"What happened out your way?" mom asked later that night, after everything had wound down and we were finally alone.

"Gregg lost control of his own demon, and it killed him," I said with a shrug. "Then I took care of it."

My mother gave me a weighing look, but let it go. My father kept mum about what he'd seen, and that was that.

He'd arrived just as things got started. It turned out that he'd never left the precinct, and when he saw me leave, took off after me. As he exited his vehicle in the Sells driveway, he'd heard my shots. He came running, and arrived just as the demons attacked me.

I was glad for that. Part of me hoped that with the truth revealed, he could finally put the past behind him, and accept me. If he'd known how things really went down, that I'd facilitated Gregg's death, we probably would have never spoken again.

Violet had been pleased with the outcome, and was interested in showing me just how proud she was. It was difficult resisting her, but I didn't think my parents were quite up for me disappearing into my old room with my nymph girlfriend after battling demons.

Instead, we headed home, where my grandmother was waiting.

I formerly introduced Violet as my girlfriend, and my parents did their best to smile. Out of all of them, my grandmother was the most pleased, who took to the girl immediately.

"I love your hair," she said, fondling the mulberry tresses.

"Thank you, Great Mother," Violet replied, curtsying slightly.

"Grandmother," I whispered to her after Nana had wandered away. Violet looked at me oddly, so I let it go and patted her hand. "Never-mind."

* * *

At dawn, Violet departed. I helped the investigators type up their reports, and signed off on my own. The gift I'd given my mom at ten years old, the little rose in a glass dome, had been recovered from Gregg's things. It was at home on her desk again, where it belonged.

"Crap," I said, looking up from where I sat in my mother's office.

"What?" she asked, looking up.

"I completely forgot about the case in Chicago," I explained. I dropped the file containing my Jekyll and Hyde reports for the Connors case on her desk, and pulled out a pad of paper. I quickly started jotting notes down on what could have caused the wall to collapse.

"I don't think the coroner is going to agree with this Gregg Connors self-sacrifice story," mom said as she glanced over the Jekyll report.

"Let me give you a number to a guy we use in Chicago," I told her. "He'll know how to word it."

* * *

The bell overhead jingled as it opened, and the book shop owner came out from the rear.

"Can I help you?" he said, adjusting his glasses.

I slapped Gregg's summoning book on the counter. "A young man bought this from you."

The owner of the shop glanced at it, and then back to me. "I believe so, yes."

"Were there any more?" I asked. "Anything with this?"

"It was part of a set," the man said, tilting his head back as he looked to the ceiling in thought. "They were in a trunk over at the pawn shop. It'd been sitting around forever, and they finally pried it open. When they found the books, they sold them to me."

"Do you have the other books?" I asked.

"I do," he confirmed with a nod.

"I'll take them," I said. "And which pawn shop was that?"

* * *

The pawn shop owner looked at me with a scowl.

"It's none of your business what else was in the trunk," he replied.

I leaned over the counter. "You've heard about all these deaths? These supposed sightings of ghosts and nonsense?"

"Sure," the guy said, shrugging. "What of it?"

"It started with a kid buying a magic book," I explained with a hint of foreboding. "A magic book he believed was real. Over the next few days, there's going to be a lot of people looking into where he got it."

"What's it to me?" the man said, frowning at my tone.

"You sold that book to the book store, as a set," I said softly. "People are going to hear about that. They're going to hear that you're selling arcane stuff that encourages kids to kill their friends and their parents. They're going to hear that you're making a profit off of their suffering, and they're going to be mad."

The pawn shop owner swallowed visibly.

"Or," I said, leaning back. "You sell me everything you have from the old Sells estate, including all of the items from the trunk. And you give me a list of anyone that bought anything else from Sells' house."

The man's eyes narrowed. "And they won't hear where the kid's book came from?"

"Oh, they'll figure it out," I assured him. "But you can say that you don't have any such stuff for sale in your shop, and you never will."

The man took a moment, but eventually nodded. "Let me get the stuff. And I'll make the list."

* * *

"So it worked," Q said, the reception on my new flip phone poor due to him being in the subbasement beneath my house.

"Like a charm," I said. "I don't know for sure what it was that affected the demons so well, though. It might have been the iron, or it might have been the silver."

"Or one of the essence spells we cast," the goblin said. "We put a lot into these weapons."

"True," I said, although I wasn't sure how well those had worked. We hadn't had an opportunity to test any of the essence treatments.

"It might have been the holy water we used during the quenching," Q mused. "You said the dipped bullets hurt them."

"Maybe," I said.

I could hear Q worrying the problem with his teeth. "I'm thinking about starting a fight with some faeries," he finally admitted, his dark grin obvious by the tone of his voice.

"Don't," I told him again. "I'm sure we'll eventually find out if the coal additives worked. No need to go stabbing everything in sight to see if the ashwood, wolfsbane, or hawthorn essence took."

"Don't forget the mistletoe," Q added, delighted in his inventions. "And the mandrake root, and hemlock, and—"

"I get it, I get it," I sighed. "We'll figure out a way to test them."

When we'd forged the spear and the other weapons, we'd tried all sorts of things to give us an edge. Different stages of the tempering process had involved Violet's torch and Sal's flames. Q had even bought some of the phoenix ashes from Bailey to add to the coals, along with everything else. Even things I didn't really think were associated with hurting magical beings, like salt, basil, and citron fruit were added, all in hopes that the blades would be infused by some essence of what made them deadly to different creatures.

For a while, the worst part had been the quenching with the Balaur's blood. I was sure the stench of that would live with me forever. But that had eventually been surpassed by the quenching with Hind's blood. Not to mention the trouble we'd gone through to _get_ it.

Combined with the smithing process he'd reverse engineered from the Kenku's blade, Q was convinced that nothing could resist the weapons. And if you give a goblin an enchanted weapon, he's going to want to use it.

"Hurry back," Q said, more excitement in his voice than I think I'd ever heard. Clearly his days of simply testing the blades in his lab were numbered.

"I'll be back tomorrow," I said. "Don't stab anyone until I'm there."

* * *

I stayed another night, making sure everything was sewn up tight. I had to visit half a dozen families, and make gentle inquiries into the purchases they'd made at the pawn show. None of them put up much of a fight when I explained things, and everything that had been sold from the Sells estate was sitting in the trunk in my grandmother's Wagoneer.

Violet returned at dusk, and joined us for dinner. Nana cooked, which was always preferred, and the family learned what they could about Violet, which was nothing.

It was one of the most pleasant evenings with my parents that I could recall. My father did his best to act normally around both Violet and myself, and I did my best not to start any fires. He'd shot some concerned glances my way when Sal had crisped his oak wood dinner, but he kept quiet. It was more than I would have hoped for a few days earlier.

At one point in the evening, I found my mother staring at my sister's door. I approached her, and she started when she saw me.

"Sorry, I was just lost in thought," she said, forcing a smile.

"Thinking bout magic, and how it might be useful looking for her, right?" I asked.

My mother's eyes widened, before softening again as she looked at the door again. "Yes. I can't help but wonder…"

I shook my head softly. "I've done everything I could. I learned a spell last year that lets me track things linked together. When I was here last fall, I tried it on several things from her room. But nothing worked."

My mother's shoulders sagged slightly, and I hugged her. "Do you think…" she said, trailing off. "Do you think she's out there somewhere?"

Rather than answering, I stared at the door, and wondered. Wondered what would be better for her. False hope, or false peace? Despite having used every resource short of making a deal with a demon, I'd done everything I could to look for my sister.

And knowing more about the supernatural world hadn't helped my own peace of mind. Knowing just how many things were out there, that would take a virginal fifteen year old girl without a trace, was terrifying. There was just no way of guessing at whether she would even be alive or dead if she _had_ been taken.

That was the worst part, I suppose. The not knowing if someone or something had taken her, or if she'd left on her own.

"I don't know," I told her, unable to lie. "Maybe we'll never know. But I'll keep looking."

My mother hugged me, and sniffed her tears away. I gave her a moment, and then led her back over to the family we had. Maybe not the family we wanted, or felt we deserved. Maybe not whole, or healthy.

But family all the same.


End file.
